Negative Effect
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Love is a powerful and complicated thing, especially when it becomes twisted and fuels a thirst for revenge. No one understands this more than the men of the Winchester family. Unfortunately, Dean and Sam find themselves in a town lost in a battle between
1. Chapter 1

Negative Effect

By: Ridley C. James & Williamson M. Scott

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, we don't own anything Supernatural, unless you count that really scary cat that we had back in college. Anyway, no money was made.

Author's notes: Some of the places in this story are real, names have been changed to protect the innocent ;-). Factual information was dispersed amongst the fiction when it came to weaving Geronimo into this tale. No disrespect was meant. Hopefully we have handled the legend that he was, like all our characters, with great reverence. _Mary Sue Free Zone_. Reviews feed the Muse. The Prologue is the only part written in the first person.

I. Prologue

It's dark out.

The sky, which was cloud-covered and angry earlier in the day has cleared to reveal a wealth of stars and a haunting full moon. The stormy atmosphere from before was much better suited for my mood.

This day is quickly turning into my worst nightmare. One that I can't seem to wake up from. I guess Sam and I have something in common.

This waking nightmare is the same as it always is when I'm dead asleep. I fail.

Mom. Dad. Sam. I fail them all.

Mom dies, Dad stays lost forever, and Sam-he never gets his happy ending. And me, well, Dean ends up alone in this story.

Like now. Even with Sam in the same room, only mere inches separating us, I feel totally and completely alone, like I can't reach him. Just to prove myself wrong, I reach out and run my hand over his hair, a move I admit Ihave been guilty of when he was a sleeping five year-old, but have long since given up. Definitely a chick flick moment. Too bad Sammy's not awake to share it. But that's the whole point, isn't it.

He's unconscious, and it's driving me crazy. There have been countless times when I would have liked to have _knocked_ him unconscious, but that's just part of being brothers. Now, I just want to shake him awake, make some stupid joke about him goofing off on the job, and then get the hell out of Dodge.

I hate to wait in the best of situations.

I've never been patient, and more than anything, I can not bare to be helpless. And today, I have been both.

When I was a kid, the teachers at school use to try and get Dad to put me on medicine. They said I was hyper and easily distracted. Dad just laughed and said that was the fucking understatement of the year.

Sam got notes from the Gifted teacher, I got notes from the Counselor. Both irritated the hell out of John Winchester. I think he thought we were freaks enough without stereotyping us any further.

But if I were honest, they had a point. I've never been big on sitting still or focusing on one thing for too long.

I don't think I can blame it on ADHD though. Usually, if I'm not doing something I have too much time to think, to remember.

That's one of the reasons why I don't let up on our hunt for Dad, why I drag Sam to one stinking job after another. I keep us moving, never looking back.

Maybe that's because I'm terrified that the past will catch up with us. _With me_. Hell, maybe tonight's that night. Ever since we went back to Kansas, to that house, that fear has become more real. I can't shake it.

Funny, that my need to run as far and fast from that place has brought me face to face with the very thing that I was trying to escape. Losing Sam.

Because I might as well face it. My whole screwed up life has been about losing people, and _not _losing people-most importantly, not losing my brother. _Watch your brother, Dean. Protect your brother, Dean. He's your responsibility. _

And tonight, I sit watching and waiting, feeling like its all falling in around me._ You're losing him. _

I wonder where Dad is and why in the hell he didn't come to Kansas. He's messed up before, especially where Sam was concerned, but this may be the first time that he's really let me down. And it sucks.

It took a lot for me to swallow my damn Winchester pride and practically beg my daddy to come and save us. It was harder to look Sam in the eye after we had gone, and tell him that I'd called our father. _He didn't come, Sammy. _

The look he gave me wasn't exactly what I'd expected. It was as close to pity as I ever want to see in that dark gaze. He wasn't pissed at Dad. He wasn't mad at me for keeping it from him. No, Sam felt sorry for me. _Damn him._

It's not like I really thought he'd come. Okay, maybe I did, but I know why I called him. Fear made me do it. Fear and its bastard cousin, helplessness.

I was so afraid that whatever took our mom would get to finish the job that it started all those years ago. Because in those really honest, really painful moments, I realize that even as a little boy, I think I intuitively believed it had been after Sam.

One look at my lifeless baby brother lying in the bed in front of me now, lines of pain marring his pale face and I know that I'll never tell him that little theory. Never.

Even though I know he thinks the same thing himself, knowing that his big brother thought it too would only hurt him. And I'd just about rather cut my fucking heart out before I'd do that.

I'd also rather sale my baby for scrap metal than admit it to Sam, but I love him. God, help me. I love my brother.

And in there lies the problem.

I love him. Love is blind. So, therefore, when it comes to Sam, I'm as fucked as Ray Charles.

It's a sad fact and a damn shame that Love and I don't have a good track record.

I've only loved three people my entire life. Just three. I don't see that changing in the future anytime soon. Maybe I should have discussed that with Marilyn, my favorite shrink, when I had the chance.

Anyway, all the people that I _have _loved and still do love, have left me hangingat some point in time.

Dean, the adult, gets that Mom didn't have a choice. As a kid, not so much. I was pissed for a long time.

Dad and Sam-well that's another story, now isn't it. It's not like something Evil came and plucked them out of my life.

When Dad ditched my ass it stung, but it hurt the worst when Sam walked away. And the real kicker is that I can't even hold that against him. Believe me, I've tried the whole hating on Sammy thing. It just doesn't work. It'sbecause a part of me, the big brother part, wanted him to go. I just wanted him to be happy, normal, I wanted to believe that he could.

You see this love shit keeps you from seeing things that should be obvious. It makes you believe things that aren't true.

Like when you believe that you're doing the _wrong_ thing for all the _right_ reasons.

Yep, I'm a fucking idiot when it comes to the people I love. Especially Sammy. He's my biggest weakness. Maybe, he's my only weakness.

And, I hate it.

Almost as much as I really hate feeling weak.

It's like when I was a little boy and all I could do was watch as my father tried to piece our lives back together the best that he could. I wasn't able to help mom when she needed it or him, when I knew he felt so alone, but even then I had Sam to take care of.

That was my job. That I understood, could control. I didn't feel useless or vulnerable when I was watching Sam.

Unfortunately, lately, I've really sucked at that too.

Case in point. Sam having to quit college. Sam watching his girlfriend die. Sam being attacked and hurt by countless other creatures that I didn't protect him from.

And now-Sam getting sick.

Yeah, as a big brother, I'm pretty much batting zero these days. Captain Onehelluva Big Brother has left the building, folks.

_God. _He's here, right in front of me, but there's nothing I can do for him. I'm as about as good to him as swim trunks are to an Eskimo. The virus, spell, or whatever the hell it is, has him in it's clutches, and there's not one damn thing that I can do to stop it.

No silver bullets, no Holy water, no mirror to break to release it's hold. If it were as simple as walking across water and turning straw into gold, I'd have done it already. I'd do anything for him. Even leap buildings in a single bound.

To make it all worse, _this_ is my fault. I can't blame it on anyone else, so I'll blame it on the love thing. I wanted to find Dad so badly, I wanted Sam to get his fucking happy ending, and I wanted to do one last thing in my life that wasn't going to be screwed up. I wanted, no- needed, to know he was safe before…

Anyway, I should have figured it out before things got this far, before Sam got sick. I never should have believed that the e-mail was from Dad. After all, it looks like I would have learned my lesson after that whole Illinois fiasco. But, my heart and my head tend to disagree when it comes to my family.

Let's face it, I screwed up, and now Sam is going to be the one to pay.

What hurts the most is that I promised him that we'd find Dad. I promised him that we'd find that thing that killed Mom and Jessica. But most importantly, I promised myself that I'd always protect him.

I've failed at all three. Just like in my nightmares.

I should have been watching him closer. I should have listened to my gut, instead of my heart.

Hell, this isn't about what I should've done, it's about what I should have _never _done.

I should have never gone to Stanford all those longmonths ago.

And, I sure the hell should have never gone to New Hope, Arizona.

Why the hell couldn't I have been the fucking psychic of the family?

Chapter One Coming Soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Negative Effect

By: Ridley C. James and Williamson M. Scott

Rating: T

Author's notes: Again, some of the places and historical figures mentioned are factual, although much creative liberty was dispersed throughout. We also played with the timeline, so dates are not historically correct. No disrespect was intended. In other words, we made up a lot of crap, we call it fiction. Reviews feed the Muse.

Disclaimer: Nothing's changed. We're still wishing they were ours, though.

Tortilla Flats Saloon, Arizona

Three days earlier...

"Geronimo is said to have had magical powers." Dean Winchester took his green eyes from the book in front of him to glance at his younger brother, Sam, who was currently devouring a Mexican burger dripping with Pepper Jack cheese and Jalapenos in record time.

The older Winchester grabbed a fry from his plate and shook his head before returning to his reading. " He could see into the future, walk without creating footprints, and even hold off the dawn to protect his own. This Apache Indian warrior and his band of 37 followers defied federal authority for more than 25 years."

Sam took a long drink of his coke and shrugged. "Interesting." He went back to his eating. Dean was on the 'jazz', the thrill of a new hunt making him even more annoying than usual.

"More than interesting." Dean closed his father's journal, and gave the other Winchester a hard stare. "Or else Dad wouldn't have put it in here."

Sam sighed. His brother was determined that they follow yet another mysterious message, this time an e-mail, that Dean was certain was from John Winchester. "Is that the only thing you found when you looked up New Hope, Arizona?"

Dean shrugged. "That and a torn piece of flyer for this place." He waved the crumpled strip of yellow paper at Sam. "Tortilla Flats Saloon, home to the famous Grande Margarita and the Tortilla Flats Band." The older Winchester glanced up to the small wooden stage in the middle of the tavern. "Too bad we aren't staying. These guys cover Lynard Skynrd."

Sam groaned. "Like I need to hear Free Bird one more time." He was pretty sure he could sing all lyrics to every Skynrd song ever written, not to mention Metallica, ACDC, and Poison.

Dean ignored the jab at his taste in music and held up their father's journal again. "There was some writing in here that I have no clue about. Maybe_ I _should have gone to college to become a linguist."

Sam grinned, wiped his hands on his jeans, and took the book from his brother. "You need a good grasp on the English language before you start slaughtering someone else's." He let his eyes run down the vaguely familiar markings. "It could be Apache, or maybe it's in some kind of code."

Dean dug his billfold out of his jacket pocket, to make sure they had enough cash to cover the bill. "Yeah, well with Dad, anything's possible."

Sam nodded, closing the journal and handing it back to his brother. "Mysteriously vague was the man's middle name."

Dean faltered and looked at Sam. "_Is_."

"Is what?" Sam couldn't help but to notice that Dean was staring at him as if he'd just been slapped.

"You said- _was_."

Sam saw an old familiar hurt flash in his brother's eyes and he felt a twinge of guilt race through him. He hadn't even noticed his use of the past tense, sure the hell hadn't meant to rub to salt in his brother's wounds. Although John Winchester sometimesdid seem more a part of _his _past than the present,Dean felt completely different about the man. "Dean…I didn't…"

"You boys interested in dessert?" Rose, their waitress, who had insisted on bringing Sam seconds on the house, chose that moment to stop at their table.

Sam sighed and took another drink of his coke. One more thing he could add to his list of apologies to be made at a later date and time.

Rose gave both boys a smile that could only be described as maternal and tucked a lose gray curl behind her ear. Pulling out her pen, touching the tip to her tongue before pressing it to her order pad, she winked at Sam. "The caramel apple tortilla pie is the best in five states and you can bet your sweet cheeks that you ain't ever tasted Flan like Max's."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Dean cut him off. "We'll just take the check, please." Seeing the disappointed look on his brother's face he continued. "If we don't go now, Sam, we'll not make New Hope by nightfall."

"Why in the world would two nice boys like yourselves want to drag your behinds into a place like New Hope?" Rose clucked disapprovingly. "Why, there's been three people die in that town in the last two months."

Sam shared a look with his brother. After receiving the message, supposedly from their missing father, the boys had located the coordinates on the map and researched the area. They already knew of the mysterious deaths. It was just another piece of evidence in Dean's arsenal.

"That's why we're going. We're reporters." They'd already worked on their cover story also, and pretending to be reporters seemed safer than CDC agents or cops.

Rose let her light blue eyes go from one boy to the other. She hadn't worked in the truck stop for twenty-six years and not learned a thing or two about people. "I see." Without an invitation, she hooked her foot behind a chair leg and pulled it up close to her, sitting her robust bottom in it and focusing on Dean. "You two with the Phoenix Sun?"

Dean gave her a disarming smile and ducked his head slightly. Charm was excellent subterfuge, even with motherly types. "We're out of Denver, actually."

"Uh-huh." Rose put her pad and pen on the table. These two were not your average Jimmy Olsen and Clark Kent. "Well, I'll give you two a little scoop and won't even charge you extra for it." She waited until both Winchesters were attentive. "Ain't nothing in that town that good, God-fearing, people want to read about."

Rose brushed her stubborn curlsback off her face again and continued. "There's enough death and misery in the news these days without dredging up things from the past. You two boys should try visiting Goldfield Miners Ghost Town, or maybe the Tonto National Monument, if you want a good story. New Hope will only break your heart. Trust me."

Dean raised an eyebrow, feeling challenged by the woman's warning. "But you said yourself that three people died there, all from mysterious consequences. That's newsworthy. I hate to say it, but death sales."

She sighed. "There ain't nothing mysterious about it. They should have just kept the town quarantined or better yet just evacuated and let the place go to the vultures and rattlers."

"From what we hear they didn't have a reason to keep the quarantine. Nothing could be found to link the deaths." Sam had found several AP articles full of speculations and conspiracy cover-up theories, but nothing anyone had been able to prove.

Rose looked at Sam. "All those people died from the same thing. A terrible sickness." The waitress looked over her shoulder at the few sparse patrons in the establishment and lowered her voice. "New Hope is cursed."

"What do you mean cursed?" Dean was interested now. The unexplained deaths and the mention of New Hope in their father's journal had been more than enough to prompt him to check it out, especially after recieving the coordinates,but Rose had just cinched the deal. He had no doubt in his mind that John Winchester had sent them there for a reason. A reason which would bring them one step closer to their father and Dean one step closer to assuring Sam's safety.

"I mean terrible things happened there, and the spirits can't rest." She glanced over her shoulder again, as if someone might be eavesdropping, before turning back to Sam and Dean. "This ain't the first time people have died in New Hope."

Sam shot Dean a quick look. "This has happened before?"

Rose nodded. "A few times." She toyed with a gold locket hanging from her neck, seeming suddenly nervous. "Did you know that New Hope use to be an Indian village?"

"Did Geronimo happen to live at this Indian village?" Dean glanced at Sam, a triumphant smirk already on his handsome face, and then looked at Rose. The hunter already knew what she was going to say. Why else would John mention the legendary figure.

Rose confirmed his suspicions with an affirmative nod. "I see you boys have done your homework." She leaned closer to the table as if about to tell a great secret. "Geronimo lost his whole family there. He returned from Mexico to find his mother and wife and children all dead. Legends say that's when he got his powers."

"Powers?" Sam watched as Rose nodded enthusiastically.

"Geronimo swore revenge on the people who killed those he loved. He was never the same man after seeing the things the white men had done. That's when the prophetic dreams and visions came to him, and some say, invincibility also. He vowed to kill as many whites as possible until he found the murderers. It became his life's crusade."

Dean watched his brother closely, waiting for any reaction to Rose's story, hoping he wouldn't see Sam make the same mental connection that he had. How easy it was for him to understand Geronimo's thirst for vengeance. How easy would it be for Sam, especially in light of what his kid brother had been going through lately?

To give him credit, the younger Winchester never even flinched. "Rose, are you saying that you think Geronimo is killing people in New Hope."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Heavens no, boy. I'm not quite senile enough to believe old Geronimo himself is out hunting for pale faces." Her features darkened slightly. "But, I do think whatever is happening in New Hope has something to do with what happened more than 150 years ago, and not some Paraguayan flu caught from exotic fruit."

Dean looked at the woman. "What exactly is it that you think caused those people to die?"

Rose looked decidedly more uncomfortable, as if she had already said too much. "People don't like to hear about things they don't understand. It makes them afraid, and fear easily turns to anger."

"We're not like most people, Rose." Sam smiled patiently at the waitress. "We've seen lots of things that most people wouldn't understand."

Rose nodded. "My daddy was a reporter, you know. He was real good with words. He won a Golden Pen award back in 1955. I still have it." Her eyes suddenly filled and she quickly stood and straightened her apron.

"I know what reporters do, searching for truth above all else." She tore their ticket from her order pad and laid it in front of Dean, her watery blue eyes holding his hazel gaze longer than necessary. "Make sure you know what the truth costs before you go chasing after it."

Sam caught her arm as she turned to go. "Rose, have you ever been to New Hope?"

"Not since my Mama died there nearly fifty years ago." She forced a smile, although it was strained and slid her pen behind her ear. "Now if you boys don't mind, I have other customers to tend to."

Sam nodded, realizing that their discussion was finished. "Thanks for talking to us."

At that, the old woman laughed, her deep, throaty chuckles cutting through some of the building tension. "Make sure you're tip shows your appreciation, sweetie. My retirement plan sucks."

"Did you get the feeling Waitress Rose knew more than she was willing to tell us." Dean picked their bill up and stood.

"I get the feeling she's really sad about something." Sam looked at his brother. "And that something has a lot to do with what's going on in New Hope."

Dean nodded, and picked up their dad's journal, it's familiar heavy weight giving him a sense of urgency. "Let's go see if we can find out what that is."

Chapter 2- Coming Soon


	3. Chapter 3

Negative Effect

By: Ridley C. James and Williamson M. Scott

Rating: T

Author's notes: See Chapter 1

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Arriving to New Hope

"This town is almost as much of a ghost town as Tortilla Flats."

Sam looked out at the cheerful yellow sign announcing that they had made it to New Hope, Arizona- The Happy Stop Along the Apache Trail. "At least it doesn't boast a population of six. Maybe they'll have more than just a saloon and gift shop."

Dean turned down a small gravel side-street and silently wondered why no one in this part of Arizona had ever heard of pavement. He cut his eyes to his brother and gave him a sly grin. "But will they have jalapeño ice cream cones?"

Sam looked at him and shrugged. "It sounded interesting."

"I don't think interesting is something one should look for in food choices, little brother. A movie, a book, maybe even a woman, but not food."

Sam ignored him and turned his eyes back to the road as they passed huge Candelabra-shaped saguaro and rows of hedgehog and barrel cacti. New Hope appeared peaceful and sheltered, as if it had been cast back in time, frozen in another era.

It reminded him of Flagstaff, and he suddenly found himself missing his father. _What the hell? _The feeling overcame him like a wave, surprising him with both its intensity and its ability to steal his breath.

His dad had once taken he and Dean thereto see the Grand Canyon on what almost seemed like a typical family vacation. Of course the true purpose of the trip was to investigate a spectral sighting of something that was supposedly killing hikers, but at the time a ten year-old Sam would have taken whatever glimpse of normal that he could have gotten.

The present day, grown-up Sam sighed, letting go of the painful part of the memory. It was good to know that he could still feel something for his father besides resentment, especially so soon after Kansas. So what if all his extensive travel as a child had an ulterior motive, he could still easily understand the lure of New Hope's untamed charm and rugged landscape.

Sam looked back down at the map in his hand. Nestled in at the base of the ironically named Superstition Mountains, the town skirted Canyon Lake, but was shielded from it's neighboring bustling city of Phoenix by 30 miles of sharp volcanic peaks and tawny cliffs of red stone.

His mind drifted to one such peak on Fish Creek Hill, where Dean's driving had assuredly taken ten years off his life along the cliff-hugging stretch of road, when his brother's abrupt braking snapped him back to the present and nearly had him colliding with the windshield.

He slung both his hands out to brace himself against the dashboard as the Chevy slid to a complete stop. "Damn it, Dean! What the hell are you doing?"

"A freakin' huge white wolf just ran right out in front of us, man." His brother was intently searching the growing darkness around them.

"Right." Sam scanned the gravel path in front of them and frowned at the oldest Winchester. "And what, then he vanished into thin air? I don't even think wolves are indigenous to this area."

Dean glared at the younger Winchester. "Tell that to _him_, college boy. I know what I saw."

"Where'd he go then?" Sam looked out the passenger window. "Maybe it was just a dog."

The oldest Winchester pointed to a building in the distance. "He darted off behind that building, and I know the difference between Lassie and White Fang."

Sam focused on the tall wooden structure which stood in what looked to be the center of the small town. "I bet that's Town Hall or maybe the Sheriff's office."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, maybe Marshall Dillon will walk out at any moment. Maybe the wolf belongs to him."

Sam grinned and shook his head. "You always did want to be a cowboy, man. This town may be your big chance."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Sam laughed, loving turning the tables on his older brother for a change. "I'm talking about how you dressed up as the Lone Ranger four Halloweens in a row. Remember how you begged Dad to buy you that pearl-handled Colt revolver?"

"Shut-up." Dean eased the car forward again, and ignored the amused look on his brother's face. "I think we should find a place to stay before we check anything out."

Sam reached into the floorboard and retrieved the map and other papers that had been thrown there when Dean stopped the car. "According to the brochure we picked up at the rest stop, there's only one place. It's at the other end of town." Sam held the shiny tri-folded paper up." It's suppose to be rated three stars."

"Great," Dean made the turn that would take them straight through New Hope. "The sooner we get started, the better."

Sam folded the map up with the brochure tucked inside. "Dean, what _is_ our plan, anyway?"

The older hunter shrugged. "Same as always. We'll talk to the locals and research the history of the place. Then, we'll go from there."

The younger Winchester looked out the window, feeling the coldness seep into the car as the sun finally made it's decent. "Maybe this isn't what we think it is. Maybe these people really did die from some type of virus."

"And maybe there is a Tooth Fairy and an Easter bunny, and maybe Santa really did bring you that Optimist Prime transformer when you were six."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Just playing Devil's advocate."

"Well, let it go, Scully. This has nothing to do with the flu. I just have this feeling."

Sam looked at his brother, amusement lighting his eyes. "_You_ have a feeling?"

Dean fought back a smile. "Maybe you're not the only freak show in the family."

"Fuck you." Sam replied, without any real heat.

Dean frowned. "Remember the time Dad washed your mouth out with soap for saying that?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother. "If I recall right, that was _you _that washed my mouth out and you used peroxide."

"Oh yeah," Dean nodded, not bothering to hide his smile now. "Nothing wrong with your memory, Sam."

Sam recognized the smug look and the unspoken threat. "Whatever, Dean."

The older Winchester laughed at the poor comeback. "Whatever, Sammy."

"This must be it." Sam leaned forward to get a better look at the large two-story, pale blue, house with tiny sea green shutters that they were quickly approaching. When the brochure had said that it was a short trip through town, it hadn't been exaggerating.

The road didn't really end, but turned rather in a cul-de-sac where the little inn sat. The wrap around porch of the old place held various rocking chairs and plants, while ivy climbed the sides of the structure. "I guess they thought the colors would be soothing?"

Dean killed the engine and grabbed his pack from behind his seat. "Yeah, hence the name, _The Rest Inn. _"

"We've stayed in worse." Sam took hold of his own bag and got out of the car.

"Yes we have." Dean climbed out of the Impala and looked at the colorful bed and breakfast. "At least it beats the tent or sleeping in the car."

Sam nodded in agreement. He didn't relish in the idea of spending another sleepless night in the Chevy. "Do you have our I.D.?"

Dean patted his pockets. "Press passes and everything." He pulled two fake ID's out and tossed one to Sam. "Courtesy of your genius older brother."

Sam caught his and looked at it. "I don't know what you're talking about. Sam _Watkins_ is an only child."

Dean locked his door and closed it. "Don't you wish it were that easy."

If Sam hadn't been looking back over his shoulder at his brother smirking, he probably would have seen the man standing in front of the steps of the RestInn. Unfortunately that wasn't the case.

"Oh man, I'm sorry." Sam tried to hold onto his pack and steady himself and the old man he'd just collided with. "Are you alright?"

"You must go." The old man stared at Sam, his black eyes hard and cold.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, Sam has two left feet." Dean took hold of his brother's jacket sleeve and pulled him backa few inches away from the stranger.

The man didn't even look at the older Winchester, but continued to hold Sam's gaze. "Both of you must leave. Now."

Sam took a moment to study the man blocking their way into the inn. He was at least in his seventies and obviously of Native American decent. His long silver hair was pulled back into a braid, accentuating his high cheek bones and black eyes. He was as tall as Sam, and struck an imposing figure even at his seasonedage. His clothes looked old, and non-distinct. The only thing unusual about what he wore was the long strand of black and jade-colored beads holding a carved pendant of white, which hung loosely around his neck.

"I'm guessing you're not with the welcome committee?" Dean's voice brought Sam's gaze back to him. "If you don't mind, my friend and I have been traveling all day. We'd like to get a room and some rest."

Again, the old man ignored Dean. "Leave this place, before the Crow traps you."

Dean eyed the man coolly and took a step closer. "Not an option."

This time the stranger looked right at Dean. "He must not have the fire. He has been waiting for it."

A sudden chill raced down Dean's spine, and he felt the urgency to get back in the Impala and do just like the old man said-get the hell out of Dodge. "Look, old man, I don't know what your problem is but maybe you should head down to the mission or better yet a nice AA meeting somewhere."

The Indian turned away from Dean, instead reaching out and grasping Sam's wrist. "He will take your power for his own and use it to destroy those around you. He won't be able to resist it. Leave now before it's too late."

"Hey!" Dean started to step in between the two when the man released Sam.

Church bells rang loudly in the distance behind them and both Winchesters turned, startled by the unsuspected noise. When they turned back around they were alone.

"What the hell?" Dean looked around, amazed that the old guy could move so quickly. "Where'd he go?"

"I have an idea." Sam looked down at his wrist, which was starting to sting.

Dean took hold of his hand and brought it closer as to see in the quickly fading light. He swore at the angry looking red marks in the shape of fingers encircling his brother's wrist.

"God. That thing was a poltergeist?"

"Or something." Sam hissed as Dean prodded the slightly damaged skin.

Dean let him go and nodded towards the Inn. "Whatever it was, it's long gone now. Go on and get us checked in, I'll grab the first-aid kit from the car."

Sam picked up his pack and with one final look around headed up the green and blue stairs. He sighed heavily. This was not a good way to start out a hunt.

Sam was still talking to a young blond man behind the reservations desk when Dean opened the door. The blond kid glanced up at him then back to Sam. "So you guys work for the Denver Post, that's pretty big time, man."

"It has its perks." Sam handed his brother the pen he'd just used to sign in and waited for Dean to do the same.

"You guys are in Room 8 at the top of the stairs and to the right." The kid, whose name tag read Dave, put a key down in front of Dean. "Miss Maggie serves breakfast at six A.M. sharp. I know it's early, but trust me, it's worth it."

"Maggie?" Dean signed his fake name and handed the pen back to the kid.

"Yeah, sweet old lady that owns the inn. She's been here forever."

"Where's the closest place for a meal now?"

Dave looked at Sam. "That would be the Jalapeno. It's right around the corner and open until ten."

"Thanks." Dean picked up the room key and started for the stairs.

The inside of the inn was stranger than the outside. Cheerful pink walls adorned with pictures of cats in various poses greeted them as they made their way up the spiral staircase.

They came to Room8 and Dean raised an eyebrow as he read the sign. "The Siamese Suite."

"Creepy." Sam shuddered and actually faltered a step as he encountered a huge stuffed white cat standing sentry in their entranceway.

Dean pushed the door open and shot him a look. "You get fried by a spirit and don't even flinch, but a stuffed kitty freaks you out."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Blame it on childhood trauma."

Dean waved him in. "After you , Little Albert."

"That should do it." Dean put the last piece of tape on the bandage he'd wrapped around his brother's wrist. "Just call me Florence Nightingale."

Sam pulled his sleeve down and sighed. "I doubt if she used Holy water mixed with Neosporin."

Dean smiled. "Better safe than sorry. If that thing was evil, I don't want to take any chances."

"Can we eat now?"

"Your gratitude is touching, dude."

"It's hard to be thankful on an empty stomach."

Dean sighed. "Let's go." He grabbed the car keys and his jacket. "Maybe we can talk to some of the locals in the cafe. I'm sure this story is on everyone's tongue."

Sam picked up his own coat and grabbed their father's journal from Dean's bed. "Maybe we'll find someone who can read Dad's notes."

Dean opened the door and held it for his brother. "Maybe, we'll meet up with Jay Silverheels again and he can translate it for us before I send him and his welcome wagon back to hell where he belongs."

Sam carefully skirted past the stuffed cat and tossed his brother a look over his shoulder. "And how do you plan on doing that without knowing what or who he is? We haven't even started our research."

Dean locked their door and pulled on his jacket. "I'll think of something, Kemosabi. Trust me." He nudged Sam as he passed him up in the hall and grinned. "Think we should grab some cat litter before we come back, Sammy?"

"Bite me."

Dean made it outside ahead of his brother, who got stopped by their friendly receptionist, so he decided to take a quick look around. Pulling out his pocket flashlight he played it along the ground where he and Sam had encountered _Mr. Friendly_.

It was easy to make out his own boot prints in the soft dirt and Sam's sneakers also, but his and his brother's appeared to be the only impressions. He'd bent down to pick up something that had caught his attention when the front door opened and his younger brother bounded out.

"Check it out, Dave drew us a rough map of New Hope and gave us some coupons for the cafe." Sam held up a brown envelope and waved it at his brother as he made his way down thefront steps.

Dean pocketed the small bead he'd found and stood. "Jeez, Beav, I always knew you were swell at making friends."

Sam sent a not so friendly hand gesture to his brother as Dean made his way towards the car. The older Winchester caught the move out of the corner of his eye and turned to reciprocate in kind when a soft whooshing sound filled the night air.

Dean felt the breeze off the first arrow as it careened past his head to stick into the ground behind him with a loud thud. "What the…?"

Unfortunately he had no time to recover as another screamed through the air straight towards him. "Dean, look out!"

Dean tried to turn and duck, but the wooden shaft sliced past him, erupting a blinding pain across his left arm. He cried out and fell back against the passenger's side door, roughly sliding to the ground before he could recover enough to catch himself.

"Dean!" Sam hunched as low to the earth as possible, making himself less of a target, and scrambled towards his fallen brother.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean was nearly lying on the ground now, seeking what cover he could from the car, when Sam slid to a halt beside him. He was holding his arm tightly, but even in the pale moonlight Sam could see the thick red fluid seeping through his torn jacket and between his fingers.

Another twang and the shattering of the passenger's back window gave Dean his answer. Someone or some thing was trying to kill them.

"Are you alright?" Sam ignored his brother's question and tried to lift his brother's hand away to see the extent of the damage, but Dean wasn't cooperating.

"No! I'm pissed. That thing hit my car!" Dean didn't think it necessary to mention the fact that his arm felt as though it were on fire. Although, he was seriously beginning to rethink his idea that living in the Old West would have been fun.

Sam shook his head at his brother's single minded obsession. He was hurt and bleeding and apparently more worried about his car. "You've been shot. We've got to get you out of here."

"Duh!" Dean shouted at his brother. "You have a fine grasp of the obvious, college boy," he bit out through clenched teeth.

Another whistling sound had Sam throwing himself over his brother as a loud pop had the front tire beside them hissing like a giant snake.

"My car!" Dean growled from beneath his brother. "The bastard is shooting my car!"

"Take it easy." Sam knew the frustration and hint of fear he heard in his brother's pain-laced voice had little to do with the attack on his pride and joy. Dean hated to not be in control, to be helpless, and that's exactly what they were. Sitting ducks.

"Get off me, Sam. I'm going to kick Tonto's ass!"

Sam didn't budge from his protective stance until a familiar voice called out to them in the darkness. "You two alright out here? What's going on?"

Lights flooded the Inn's front porch and Dave stepped out the door. "I thought I heard someone yelling."

Sam pushed himself up and helped his brother to his feet. Sweat already covered Dean's pale face and Sam had to grab hold of him to keep him from landing on his ass in the dirt again. "He got her twice, Sam."

Sam followed his brother's gaze to the arrow sticking out of the front tire and then to the one protruding from the back of the driver's seat.

"More importantly, he got you." Sam tightened his hold on his brother, not willing to think about what could have happened. "Let's get inside before he comes back to finish the job."

"I get the whole shooting the horse right out from under the cowboy thing, but what kind of monster shoots a man's car?" Dean asked as Sam wiped an alcohol swab over the deep gash across his brother's bicep.

Sam continued his work, barely glancing at his brother's face. "A pissed off poltergeist has my vote."

"Ow!" Dean jerked back from the youngest Winchester's ministrations. "Good thing you decided against medical school."

"Sorry." Sam winced in empathy as he cleaned the deep, jagged wound again. He was having a hard enough time keeping his hands steady, without having to deal with Dean's criticism. "This may need stitches."

Dean shook his head. "I've had worse. Just use the butterfly bandages after the Holy water."

Sam hated to admit it but Dean was right, he had suffered worse. _Thanks to John Winchester. _"Why would the poltergeist attack us? Do you think it has to do with the curse? Do you think it's the spirit of Geronimo?"

"I don't know." Dean looked down at his arm and grimaced. He'd never admit it, but he hated the sight of blood, especially his own. _At least it wasn't Sam's_. "Why warn us to leave at all?. Why not just take us out to begin with? And since when do ghosts use primitive weapons?"

Sam shrugged and continued to try and get the bleeding to stop. "That thing back in Kansas didn't mind using knives or cords or anything it found lying around."

Dean winced. "Yeah, but spirits don't usually show themselves in corporeal form unless they have to. It uses way too much of their energy."

Sam held his brother's gaze. "It still had enough energy to attack you."

"Maybe."

Sam wanted to ask what his brother meant, but the door to their room swang open before he could. "Here's the water you wanted boiled." Dave walked into the room carrying a small metal bowl. He raised a skeptical brow at Sam. "I did it just like you said, over the open fire in the fireplace."

Sam took the water and sat it on the floor beside Dean. "Thanks, Dave."

"Man that looks nasty." Dave leaned over Sam's shoulder to get a better glance at the cut on Dean's arm. "Look, dudes, are you sure you don't want me to call Sheriff Landry? This is like messed up. Somebody tried to kill you."

Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it. People hate reporters almost as much as lawyers." He shot Sam a quick smirk. "I think someone was just trying to keep us away from this story. It could have even been our competition."

Dave whistled. "Man, I think I'll stick to the Archeology major. At least dead, buried things don't go around trying to kick your ass."

Sam and Dean shared a knowing look. "Right." Sam forced a smile. "But just so you know, we're going to the Sheriff's office in the morning. We'll file a report then."

"If you say so, dude, but I'll call Morry over at the garage and see if he can come and fix your ride? It's the least I can do."

Dean opened his mouth to say something but Sam cut him off. "That'd be great, Dave. Thanks."

"Why'd you let him have my keys?" Dean asked his brother after Dave had left the room.

"I don't let just anybody touch my car, you know that. _I_ work on it."

"Yeah, well you're not exactly up to changing tires right now, are you."

"Then you can do it."

"I'm taking care of _you_."

Dean watched his brother for a moment, his mouth suddenly dry. "Just so we're clear, if anything happens to me, you get the car, and if you sale it or wreck her, I'll haunt your ass forever."

Sam stopped what he was doing and gave his brother a sharp look. He didn't like the turn their conversation had just made. "Shut-up, Dean." A sudden feeling of loss closed in on Sam and his head began to hurt. He pushed back at the warning, locking it behind the door he wasn't quite willing to open yet. " Nothing's going to happen to you, so we don't need to do this."

Dean rolled his eyes, recognizing the heated words for what they were. Fear. Sam was afraid, and for some reason, so was Dean. "I'm really hating this town, Sam."

Sam bent down in the floor beside his brother again, not willing to mention that it was _Dean's_ big idea to come here. Or was it John's? "I know, just take it easy. I'll finish this and then we'll start over in the morning."

Dean nodded and Sam picked up the forged bowl of Holy water. He hesitated. "This may hurt."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Just do it." The older Winchester wasn't sure which one of them was about to suffer more, but he was determined not to make it anyharder than it had to be.

Sam's wrist hadn't been affected by the Holy water, but it was only a slight burn, and not an open wound where infestation from the source could be a problem. He remembered when their dad had been sliced up by a Banshee demon once while on a hunt. Sam was only a kid then, but he could vividly recall his screams as he'd made Dean pour the Holy water over the wounds. It was just one of the many things that he'd had nightmares about growing up.

"Do it, Sammy." Dean's soft voice cut through his reverie, as if he knew what his kid brother was thinking. "Better safe than sorry."

Sam lifted his dark eyes to his brother's, finding solace in the hazel gaze, before taking a deep breath and gently pouring the hot liquid over the still bleeding gash.

Dean had tensed in anticipation of the pain, but sill wasn't prepared for the agonizing fire that erupted along his upper arm. "Damn it!" he gasped, clenching his fist and reflexively trying to squirm out of Sam's grasp as the water did it's job.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Sam whispered. His mouth had gone dry and he felt like he was going to be sick as he watched his older brother struggle with the pain, but he held onto him and doused the wound with the water again.

This time Dean came up off the bed. "God," he choked, pulling away from Sam and stumbling away from him towards the window. "What the fuck _was_ that thing?"

Sam raked a shaking hand through his hair and tried to take a deep, slow breath to calm his frayed nerves. "Something very bad." Any thoughts of it being a mortal attack were vanquished as soon as the Holy water began to react on Dean's wound.

"Well it's really pissed me off now." Dean was trembling with the effort it took not to pass out on his kid brother. He refused to freak Sam out anymore than he had to. His brother was tough, but he also knew what his weaknesses were. Watching someone he loved hurt was one of them. In fact, they both shared that particular demon. _Damn the damned. _

"I'm not leaving here until we find out what's causing all of this and bury it for good."

Sam walked across the room to where his brother stood clutching his arm. "I need to finish this." He forced a small smile, as if he inflicted pain on his brother for his own good every day. "Third time's charmed, remember?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say, Van Helsing. You're not the virgin vampire in this really bad episode of Dark Shadows."

Sam's grin widened, revealing a hint of his usual smile. "You haven't been a virgin for a very long time, bro?"

"Well that makes one of us." Dean took some comfort in watching Sam's face color slightly.

"Whatever, Dean."

Dean laughed at Sam's typicalthirteen year-old rebuttal, despite the pain trying to pull him under. "Whatever, Sammy."

Sam led his brother back to the bed, finishing the task as quickly as possible. He blocked out the sound of Dean's harsh, panting breath and tied the last bandage. "That should do it."

He helped his brother pull his black ACDC T-shirt back on, and handed him a glass of water, and two Tylenol that he'd dug out of the first-aid kit. "Why don't you try to get some sleep."

Dean took the pills and a long drink of the water, letting it wash some of the pain away, and then handed the glass back to Sam. "What about dinner?" He hugged his injured arm close to his chest and scooted back on the bed until his back was resting against the headboard. "I thought you were starving."

Sam shook his head, returning the glass to the night stand. "I lost my appetite." Dean was not up for a midnight stroll, and there was no way Sam was leaving his brother alone. "We'll just wait for this incredible cook, Miss Maggie, to fix us breakfast in the morning."

"You sure?"

"Yep," Sam picked up the blanket from the bottom of the bed and gently draped it over Dean. He reached his hand up and quickly checked his brother's forehead for fever. The skin was cool to his touch and he breathed a sigh of relief. "We both need the rest."

Dean started to open his mouth to say something, but before his brother could come off with a smart ass comment about the chick-flicktreatment, Sam moved his hand away, and turned off the lamp. He kicked his shoes off and fell back on the other bed. "I think even _I'll_ be able to sleep tonight."

Coming Soon…Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

Negative Effect

By: Ridley C. James and Williamson M. Scott

Rating: T

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay in posting. Hope the length of this chapter makes up for it. Thanks for all the reviews, they really do make the writing go faster. For other notes see Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Santa still hasn't delivered, although we're clinging to hope. See Chapter 1.

Sam's optimism for a night filled with much needed sleep had unfortunately been unwarranted.

The young hunter found himself plagued with dreams he couldn't quite grasp clearly enough through the thin veil of disturbed rest to make much sense of. And more than once he found himself awake, staring at his sleeping brother, as if he might somehow disappear if he wasn't on the watch to keep him safe.

At least Dean seemed oblivious to all the scrutiny and actually got to sleep the whole night through and much to Sam's stomach's delight Dave had been right on the money about Maggie's culinary talents.

The woman could put together a spread to make Martha Stewart pant with envy. The only thing that tarnished the meal was the cat centerpiece, which sweet old Maggie insisted on telling everyone used to be her beloved pet Tapioca, before his untimely death at the age of 14. Tapioca was curled in the center of a basket of lilies and daffodils, watching them through jeweled emerald eyes, but neither Sam nor his appetite was deterred and hepolished off more than his share of the blueberry pancakes and cranberry muffins. It only confirmed his older brother's belief that Sam could eat at an autopsy.

Dean wasn't thinking about breakfast, however. His first thought as he and Sam exited the inn was how his baby had been violated. Not only once by the phantom asshole's rendition of the Massacre at Wounded Knee, but by an unknown mechanic putting his greasy and uncaring hands on his baby. _Damn them to hell_.

However, when his eyes rested on his prize sitting, almost whole, in the inn parking lot, he released the breath he'd been holding. Okay, she didn't look all that bad.

The tire had been replaced with a matching new one and the back window didn't have the ugly duct-taped look, but was handled as artwork with a plexiglass replacement until a new window came in. All in all, Dean had to admit his car had been put into excellent care. Apparently the mechanic could appreciate a work of art when he saw one, giving the town at least one redeeming quality.

"See, you worried for nothing." Sam punched his brother lightly on his uninjured arm.

The younger hunter had to admit that he had been anxious himself over the car's predicament. Dean could be worse than the Devil when it came to his car. Sam assumed it had something to do with an unholy psychological attachment to a favorite childhood toy, or just Dean and his macho testosterone driven attitude. Either way, it made Sam's life more pleasant when Dean's baby was in peak condition.

Dean threw his brother a mock glare. "You're just lucky." He pushed Sam ahead of him and quickly positioned himself behind the wheel of the car. "Let's get this party started. The quicker we get this thing figured out and taken care of, the quicker we can get the hell out of this one-horse town." The car fired up and the two brothers headed to the center of town or at least what acted as the hub of New Hope.

Dean hadn't been far off by describing the place as one-horse. As they drove down Main Street, the only buildings that greeted them were the sheriff's office, the courthouse, the town library, and a bunch of small gift shops. Antique-looking houses were scattered about between the buildings, many of them boasting historical prowess with cheerful signs dating their structure and listing famous people who had lived or visited there.

"So, what _is _our plan again?" Sam shot his brother a curious look.

Dean shrugged, wincing slightly as he was reminded of events from the previous night. "Well, we know from your research on the net and what Rose told us that there have been three deaths so far. I think you should check out the library to see if you can dig up anything historical that might link what's going on now with something that's gone on before."

"Like Rose mentioning that this wasn't the first time people had died in New Hope."

"Exactly." Dean pulled into an alleyway between the sheriff's office and the gift shops. "If we can find a pattern, maybe we can isolate a cause of the deaths, or at least isolate a source of the evil this place has obviously got going on." They locked the car and made their way around the corner, assuming that all of their investigation destinations should easily be within walking distance. "I'll check out the Sheriff's office and see if the law has anything new to add."

"You know, Dean, if this is a curse, like back at that realty development, there's not going to be a lot we can do."

Dean stopped at the edge of the streetand looked at Sam. "I thought about that, but if this has to do with a curse on New Hope then why did one of the victims not even live here? The second person to die, that girl from California, she apparently had no ties here."

As they stepped up onto the sidewalk, they were immediately cut off by an elderly man, who had just exited one of the shops. He was dressed as if he had walked right out of the pages of an Old West dime store novel and all comments Sam had been about to make to his brother fled his mind as he took in the unusual quality of the stranger.

The man was easily as tall as Sam and adorned in a dusty black suit reminiscent of the undertakers from the 1800's era and to top it off, a Bat Masterson bowler adorned his head of white flowing hair, which reached past his shoulders. Both Winchester's were stunned speechless for a moment, when he smiled and tarnished yellow teeth greeted them.

"Morning, gentlemen. I'm sorry if I startled you." The newcomer took his hat off and cast his eyes to the clear blue sky above them. "Nice day, isn't it." He raked a long-fingered hand through his hair and then placed his hat back on his head.

"Yeah," never big on small town pleasantries, Dean nodded to the guy and started to walk on. Unfortunately, the old man moved in front of him.

"I was hoping to interest you boys in a photograph." The man extended his hand and in it was a business card. "I own the local 'Old-timey Photo Shop', he nodded his head to the storefront window behind him, "where you can make your fantasy come to life."

Sam reluctantly reached out and took the card. Something about the man, other than his attire and lack of dental care,had the younger Winchester hesitant. "Thanks, Mr..."

"Monroe."

"Mr. Monroe. My friend and I are reporters just passing through, but thank you for the offer." Sam started to walk around the man, with Dean following close behind, but Mr. Monroe wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"We're all really just passing through, now aren't we."

"I guess." Sam shot a quick look at his brother, who rolled his eyes. Sam could easily read the impatience in the gesture. _Move your ass, Sammy._

"Even those just visiting usually want something memorable to mark their passing." The man's grin broadened. "I'm sure two gentlemen like yourselves would understand the need to cherish certain moments in life." Monroe reached over and patted Sam on the shoulder.

The young man visibly winced from the contact. A shudder of pure ice raced down his spine, and he faltered. Dean, who had already turned away, ready to move on, noticed that his brother had stopped and did an about face. "We have work to do, Sam."

"It seems your friend may see the value in preserving a memory. You never know when it could be your last."

When Sam didn't move, but continued only to stare at the card, Dean stepped a little closer to the old man. "Listen, we're kind of in a hurry and not looking for a Kodak moment, got it." The older Winchester leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Besides, pictures fade."

He grabbed Sam's sleeve, "Let's go."

Mr. Monroe's eyebrow raised at the double meaning echoing in the young man's words. But before he had the chance to reply, Sam seemed to snap out of it and stepped closer to Dean.

"Sorry, but we don't have time to change. You probably do great pictures and all. It's just that we're in a hurry." Sam handed Monroe back his business card and turned away once again.

Monroe was not to be deterred and he reached out and took hold of Sam's arm this time. "Well, how about just a quick picture, then. No costumes and no props, just a shot of you and your _friend_." Monroe directed his last word towards Dean, then quickly turned back to Sam. "I have my camera just inside the shop door and it wouldn't take more than a minute." He held Sam's gaze, willing the younger man to agree.

Sam's resolve began to crumble. His thoughts immediately began to replay memories from his childhood and his recent life as a college student. Mental images of people and places flashed in front of him in a dizzying array, and he felt empty. Nothing. He couldn't seem to grasp not one moment in dazzling clarity. Everything seemed a blur. Not his mom. His dad. Not even one clear image of Dean could be recalled and captured. _What would one picture hurt?_

Dean knew the moment his brother caved. The look that crossed his face and the pleading puppy dog eyes that latched onto Dean's skeptical gaze was a clear give away. "No."

Dean turned away from both Monroe and Sam again and started to walk away, but stopped when he heard it.

"Dean?" The name wasn't the cause of the hesitation, it was the small voice of a baby brother he could never in his life refuse. _Damn it_. There had to be a charm or something he could pick up to ward off the Sammy jinx. He'd have to remember to ask Missouri about that the next time they met up with her, but for now he was screwed and he knew it.

Dean whirled around and stalked back to where Sam stood. They didn't have time for this, they were on a fucking hunt for crying out loud. People's lives were at stake and his kid brother was turning into a freakin' tourist. "Fine, but I'm not smiling, and don't even ask me to say cheese."

Dean was still glaring at Sam when they walked out of the camera shop five minutes later. "You could have at least dropped the loathing look of disdain."

"Yeah, and you could have not been a pushover for once and fell for that lame sales pitch. _Memories last forever._" The last part was said in a whiny, mocking tone that was reminiscent of Dean's days as a teenager.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It was just a picture."

"Yeah, a picture taken by the freaky preacher from Poltergeist. I feel creepy just thinking about it."

Sam couldn't even deny the resemblance, as the identical thought had crossed his mind too, and he wasn't even sure why he had agreed to the absurd picture idea. The thought that he hadn't been exactly acting on free will wasn't acceptable, even as something about the man's touch still sent a shiver through him. He did feel kind of grimy, as he recalled the way the man had leered at him. There wasn't much he could do about it now, although he was sure his brother would not let him forget about it anytime soon. "Just let it go."

_Right. _Dean glanced down at his watch and then motioned towards the Sheriff's office. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to get back to work."

Sam stuffed both hands in his pocket and shrugged. "I'll be at the library when you finish."

Dean stepped backwards from the sidewalk and pointed an accusatory finger at Sam. "Just don't stop off for a Geronimo T-shirt or a New Hope snow globe on the way."

Sam pretended not to hear his brother and kept on walking. Sometimes children did better if you simply ignored their behavior.

"No magnets either!" Dean called and Sam couldn't help the little birdie that flew right out of his hand.

So much for shaping. Dean was beyond help.

The old library was just the kind that Sam loved.

It was housed in a two-story building with a wrap around porch, that had probably been someone's residence at one time. The dark wooden floors and crimson walls with oak molding gave it a warm feel, and a sudden pang of longing had him thinking about college and all that he had left behind.

Although, a quick glance at the tall Grandfather clock in the corner of the room he was in, had him pushing those feelings aside and focusing once more on the task at hand.

The librarian, Sally, had insisted on sharing some of the history of the place with him as she showed him around, and even though he was impressed that the structure had been in existence since the early 1800's, he had wasted a fair amount of time listening to her speech. He _was_ pleased however that despite the town's small population, the library housed a wealth of old texts, maps, and county records. Just what Sam needed.

He leaned back in the Queen Anne chair he'd chosen to sit down in and picked up one of the texts that Sally had suggested from the large mahogany table in front of him. It was a history of New Hope and the surrounding area.

The smell of old books wafted to him, and he smiled. _This_ was one thing he had always loved about the hunt.

Research and reading were two of his first loves, and it was a talent for finding elusive information that his father had recognized and cultivated in Sam. Funny, that John Winchester had lit the fire in his son that would eventually cause the unforgivable rift between them.

Mysteries and puzzles were things Sam couldn't resist. He liked the challenge of weaving together a story behind a place, or event, or reconstructing the past of a person. It was one of the reasons he had loved the idea of Law. A friend of John's had planted the seed when he was just a kid and Sam had nourished it with books ranging from the Philosophy of Justice to true crime magazines. As he grew, so did his determination to explore that side of himself more thoroughly. But now that desire was gone, or maybe just hidden, by a much stronger one. Revenge.

Again, he shoved away the memories of his past. He was a hunter now, not a law student. It's what he'd been born to do. That's one of the things he'd become sure of in the months since Jessica's death.

"So what are you waiting on, Sammy?" he mumbled to himself ,as he opened the book and began the task of peeling away the layers that held the hidden truth about New Hope.

On the other side of town, Dean was doing what he loved.

Playing the part.

If he hadn't been a hunter, Dean thought he mightwould have liked to be an investigative reporter.

Sure Sam was more the Jimmy Olsen type, but Dean felt he would have made a good correspondent, delving into the evils of the human side of the world. He'd still been able to work with weapons, become anybody he needed to be, and the job would still be physical. Of course, he'd have had to fly a lot more, and that might have been a problem.

Maybe he would have just become a secret agent, yeah, that would have been cool. Or a super hero-even better.

Pulling himself from his thoughts of life without hunting, Dean looked up to see he had made it to the Sheriff's office.

The first thing that popped into Dean Winchester's mind as he entered the small non-descript building was- _where's Barney_?

He looked around the tiny New Hope jail and seriously began to think he had been caught in a weird time warp. The whole place was an exact replica of Mayberry's finest.

The left side of the room was filled with two barred cells. A gun rack with a shotgun and rifle hung from the back wall and there was a desk with a rotary phone in the middle. The only thing missing was the old drunk guy- Otis.

The Sheriff was sitting behind the desk talking on the antique phone, and he waved Dean in with a quick, easy, smile. From the twinkle in the hazel eyes and tone of the man's deep voice, Dean gathered that the person on the other end of the line was more than likely female.

Dean, always a quick study of his opponent, casually sized up the sheriff as he waited for the man to finish his conversation. He looked to be well-built, athletic, and not the stereotypical pot-bellied, donut eater, than one would expect to find in a small one-cop town. He was middle-aged, with dark hair, rugged features, and a fully grown mustache reminiscent of Thomas Magnum.

The phone call ended and the sheriff was suddenly giving Dean just as much scrutiny as Winchester had just given him. The face had lost some of it's animation, but the smile was still cordial and inviting. The voice that followed the appraisal was laced with slight suspicion and complete authority. "Can I help you, son?"

He stood slowly from his chair and decided from the wary look of his visitor to treat him like he would a stray dog- with a little caution.

"Yeah." Dean stepped all the way into the room, moving to stand opposite the man behind the desk. "My name's Dean White and I work with the Denver Post. I'm here with an associate researching the recent deaths you've had here in New Hope. I was wondering if I could get some information from you?" Dean placed his hands in his pockets and decided looking anywhere but into this man's eyes was preferable.

The sheriff stared hard at the man before him. He seemed barely old enough to be out of college, let alone be a reporter, but what the hell did he know about kids these days. " I see. Well, I'm Sheriff Buck Landry. Welcome to New Hope."

Buck extended his hand and Dean shook it firmly. " So you work for the Post?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. " Free lance mostly. My partner and I thought that this might be a story worth our effort."

"Well, I don't know how much help I could be, Dean. The facts and information gathered from witnesses has already been plastered on our local newspaper's front page."

Buck retook his seat and started to comb his mustache with his index finger and thumb. "I can only tell you what you probably already know. There's been three victims. All with the same flu-like symptoms, but nothing that the officials can find to link them together, medically speaking, anyway. As far as my investigation goes, none of the autopsies haves shown anything that would make me suspect foul play"

Dean felt the sheriff's action of sitting was an invitation for him to do the same. He sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk and stretched his legs. Last night wasn't the best night of his life and sleep, including rest was not abundant. He watched the sheriff for a few minutes before he asked his next question.

"There seems to be something rather odd about the deaths though, don't you think? I mean I know that the CDC has given some excuse about a Paraguayan fruit epidemic, but New Hope just doesn't seem like the type of place that would be interested in Central American cuisine."

Buck nodded. "Usually not, but old Francis Dearling, she runs the Jalepeno, greatest burgers this side of Texas by the way, got herself a really good deal on these strange little fruits that she thought might make some interesting salsa."

"Salsa?" Dean raised a brow. "Salsa killed three people?"

Buck grinned. "There ain't nothing entertaining about those people dying, but just between me and you, those CDC people are some damn good magicians. They pulled that story right out of their assess, if you ask me, just like a bunny from a hat."

Dean frowned. "The government's not always big on telling the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." Hell, John Winchester still thought Elvis was alive.

"Yeah, well you and me could probably debate Roswell and Ruby Ridge all day, son, but Uncle Sam is going to have the last say, because he's sitting in that big White house on the hill."

"Are you saying that there's a cover-up going on in New Hope?"

"I'm not saying any such thing, Dean. I'm just giving you my opinion on the whole freaky fruit thing."

Dean nodded and decided to put all his cards on the table. "What about the curse?"

At that, Buck did laugh. "Curse? You mean the idea that old Geronimo is seeking revenge on the good folks of New Hope

"Stranger things have happened."

"You sure you don't work for The National Tattler, son? Curses don't seem to be something the Denver Post would be all that interested in."

Dean didn't miss the fact that his own insult had been tossed back at him. "I'm just exploring every angle." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I have a source that says this type of thing has happened in New Hope before."

Buck sighed. "Listen, Dean, I don't know who your mysterious source is, but I can assure you that New Hope isn't cursed. I've lived here all my life and I don't rightly recall there ever being a phantom Indian out killing people."

"Well, Buck, I hate to break it to you, but someone decided to do some target practice with my associate and myself last night. I have the arrows to prove it." Not to mention yet another soon to be scar.

Buck's face grew serious. "I hate to hear that." The lawman jotted something down on a piece of paper. "Did you get a look at who it might have been?"

Dean decided telling about their phantom attacker now wouldn't be the most prudent of avenues, so he shook his head. "It was dark, and I was a little worried about being skewered at the time."

"You say you have the arrows?"

"Yeah, your local mechanic removed them from my car."

"If you want to bring them in, I have some connections with some of the locals of the Apache Nation still living in this area. They may be able to tell us something."

Dean remembered his father's journal and the writing there concerning New Hope. "Do you think that they might take a look at some writing that I happened across. I think it may be written in their language. It's for our piece."

Buck shrugged. "The man I'm thinking of use to be a teacher. If it's Apache, he'll know."

Dean stood. "Could we do it this afternoon?"

"Afraid not, son. My deputy doesn't come in until tomorrow afternoon. My shift ends at three. How about we meet here then?"

He didn't like the idea of waiting, but he couldn't exactly be pushy. "Sure. That will give me and my associate some time to talk with some of your local citizens."

Buck nodded. "Most folks are friendly enough. I just wouldn't mention that whole curse thing again if you want to be taken seriously. You wouldn't want people thinking you and your friend were a couple of loonies, now would you?"

Dean smiled and shook his head. "No, I wouldn't want that."

Sam had just finished leafing through the last of the town's records from 1955 when his brother's voice rang out from somewhere behind him.

"He's tall and kind of geeky looking."

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed himself up from the table, peering around the corner of the tall pillar blocking his view of the circulation desk.

He cleared his throat and waved when Dean looked his way.

"Never mind, I found him." The older hunter smiled at Sally and walked towards his brother, who was practically barricaded by stacks of books and ledgers. "Looks like you've been having fun?"

"I have." Sam answered truthfully and grabbed a pile of papers from in front of him. "Did you make nice with the local lawman?"

Dean nodded. "Sheriff Andy is going to take us to meet a real live Indian, who might be able to read what Dad wrote in the journal, and give us a heads up on those arrows that nearly took me and my baby out."

"Native American is the politically correct term."

"Huh?"

Sam shook his head, "Never mind." The younger Winchester grabbed his notebook and a map that he'd had Sally photo copy. "I've found out some very interesting things about New Hope."

Dean grinned. "Do tell."

"I'll fill you in over dinner later, but first I have a little treck into the back country planned."

Dean waved his brother ahead of him. "Lead the way, Sacajawea."

Sam shook his head. "You are disturbed on so many levels, you do know that right?"

"What?" Dean shrugged and started off after his quickly retreating brother. "You never heard of Lewis and Clark?"

"So this is where the massacre took place?"

"Not the original one." Sam shoved his hands in his pocket and huddled against the slight wind that had kicked up."This is supposedly one of the ranches that Geronimo raided after _his_ family was killed."

Dean looked around at the falling down buildings and dilapidated house. "I'm guessing it's not on the historic homestour?"

"No." Sam grinned. "Sally told me about it."

"Sally?" Dean smirked. "The Grandma at the circulation desk?"

"Yeah, she said that this place has been abandoned for almost a hundred years, but that New Hope doesn't own the property. An unknown investor pays the taxes, so it just sits here. She called it one of the town's many skeletons."

"She tell you anything else?"

"Yep. Seems that Sally remembered this same type of thing happening about fifty years ago. She said there were five victims then."

"Interesting."

"Very." Sam nodded to the car. "I have some research to show you that definitely makes a case for this being something right up our alley."

"Then why exactly are we out here if you have already done the research?"

"Because when I asked about the curse, Sally told me this was the place that started it all. Not Geronimo's village."

Dean's brow knitted in confusion. "So, the curse, or whatever, wasn't cast by Geronimo, but by one of his victims?"

Sam sighed. "I'm not sure. Sally just said that people use to talk about the man that lived out here. He supposedly survived Geronimo's attack by hiding in a root cellar. He was just a kid when everyone in his family was murdered."

"Really?" Dean shrugged. "Maybe I should get the EMF from the car."

"I don't know," Sam grinned again. "Sally also told me that she saw Elvis at the Jalapeño yesterday."

Dean sighed. "Great source there, little brother. You'll make a fine reporter some day."

"Didn't see you coming up with anything more brilliant."

"Well, we're here, so we might as well check it out. I'll grab my EMF from the car and you head on over to the outlying buildings with your…" Dean waved his hand in the air, making a face, and Sam tried to reign in his irritation, "…built-in EMF, while I take the main house."

The youngest Winchester didn't bother with a comment, and merely turned and started for the barn. Sometimes he wished he'd never told Dean about the strange things that had been happening to him. Even though he knew that teasing his younger brother about it, was in a way Dean's means of dealing with something he couldn't control, it still pissed him off. Just once, Sam would like the shoe to be on the other foot.

Dean watched his kid brother walk away and felt a tinge of remorse. He knew he had been giving Sam a hard time about his new- found ability since leavingKansas, but in reality, the whole idea of it scared the hell out of him. And being scared just wasn't something he could afford at the moment. So if poking fun at it and making light of it were the only ways he could trick himself into believing it less of a threat, then Sam would just have to deal.

The house wasn't locked, and even if it had been the cracks in the walls were almost large enough that Dean could have squeezed through them. Dust fell from the doorframe as he entered and cobwebs brushed against his face, causing an involuntary shudder to run through him.

Despite the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the planks that had been used to board up the broken windows in the structure, the house was mostly dark and Dean felt around in his pocket until he latched onto the flashlight. Pulling it out he turned it on and instantly felt a sense of security as the area was cast in artificial light. He'd never admit it, but he fucking hated the dark.

Okay, where to start. The home was more like a sectioned box and Dean was pretty sure that he'd been in motel rooms that were bigger, but a room off to the side caught his eye and he made his way towards the curtained off area, holding his EMF out in front of him.

The material that hung from the door was rotten and smelled strongly of mildew. It was spotted with something that looked like blood but could have been rust, and when Dean reached out to move it away, it practically crumbled in his hand.

The young hunter shook his head and tossed it to the plank floor. Just as he moved inside and decided what he thought had been a room was more of a closet or pantry, the EMF suddenly came to life. He panned the flashlight around and something glistened in the light from the corner on the floor.

Dean bent to pick it up and he'd just squatted down and scooped up a small black bead when he heard it.

The growl was low at first then grew louder and more fierce as Dean swallowed hard and turned to look over his shoulder. The EMF continued to flash wildly, even as Dean dropped it to the floor.

The white wolf that he'd seen on their first day in New Hope was standing not six feet from him.

It was massive, bigger than any dog, at least four feet from snout to haunches. It's legs were longer and bigger than a German Shephard's and it's frame although lanky, was ripped with taught, quivering muscles.

What held most of Dean's attention at the moment however was it's bared teeth, very large and sharp teeth, and the glowing gold eyes which seemed to be focused entirely on the hunter in front of it with deadly intensity.

"Good boy," Dean slowly stood up, trying to remember if he'd brought his gun with him.

For some reason he was sure he'd meant to slip it into the back of his jeans, but then what exactly was there to be afraid of in a deserted homestead. After all, wolves and such weren't indigenous to Arizona. That's the last time he'd listen to the college boy.

The wolf inched closer, hunching down and snapping it's teeth together. The growl grew deeper and louder, more threatening, until it seemed to be filling the room. Dean could almost feel the vibration on his skin.

He backed up, until his shoulders touched the wall, and tried to think of any defense, besides the lightweight flashlight in his hand. Sam was only a short distance away, but yelling wasn't exactly something the wolf was probably going to like.

Dean averted his eyes from the amber gaze, trying to look submissive. Wasn't that what you were suppose to do? Damn John Winchester for not ever letting them have a dog. Of course, there had been Ivy, but she was just a puppy and Cujo didn't look anything like the happy black Lab that he and Sam had kept that one summer.

He was completely enclosed in the small closet-like structure. Dean was trapped, his only exit now filled by the bulking form of the animal baring down on him like he was to be the main course at its evening meal.

White Fang growled again, and Dean knew what the wolf was planning even before he saw it move.

It leaped and hit him hard in the chest and the wall behind them gave way, sending both man and lupine crashing to a floor that shouldn't have been there, and then through said floor to a hidden dirt room below.

Dean felt himself falling and tried to reach out for anything to brace himself, but grabbed only air. He hit hard, his head landing on something unforgiving and sharp. There was a solitary moment when he wondered where the wolf had gone, and then he couldn't think of anything at all, as a bright-searing pain brought the darkness that quickly claimed him.

Sam had finished exploring the barn, half frustrated and half relieved at not having _felt_ anything out of the ordinary, when he noticed something sticking out through the straw in the last stall that he'd come to.

He bent over and picked up what looked to be a child's toy, when a searing pain and flash of white light had him grabbing his head in both hands and nearly falling to his knees.

"God!" he choked out as the agony stole his breath and nearly ripped him from consciousness.

Bracing himself against one of the still standing stalls, Sam fought to stay vertical. Images flashed behind his eyelids, showing a scene from long ago. It was dark, a wealth of stars filled the sky. The old farmstead was freshly painted and new again. Cattle were grazing in the distance.

Sensations overcame him as they assaulted his body unrelentingly. He heard screams, smelled carnage and smoke, and felt the heat of the flames and the warm wetness of blood seeping between his long fingers as he pressed his hands to the ragged chest of a man he didn't recognize.

Tears streamed down his face, he tasted their saltiness as they flowed onto his lips, but the grief threatening to drown him wasn't his own.

Then the old man's anguished features twisted and blurred, morphing into something even more terrifying. The foreign fear suddenly became his own. _Dean. _

Sam gasped, his eyes snapping open, the wooden toy horse falling from his hand. He took a gulping breath of air, trying to regain some semblance of the control he'd so easily lost.

His heart was racing, making it hard to breathe, but one thought kept him from giving in to the nausea churning in his stomach. Dean was in trouble.

Sam let go of the vision or whatever the hell it had been and stumbled towards the house where he'd last seen his brother. "DEAN!"

Dean felt warmth on his skin, and then a soft panting breath brushed over his face.

At first, a slight feeling of anxiety washed over him as he wondered if he were going to have to quickly remember the name of whatever girl he'd hooked up with the night before, but then something wet and rough slid across his ear and he found himself sitting upright with a start.

"Shit!" he blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge himself as quickly and gracefully as possible from the bundle of white fur that was now standing over him.

"She likes you." An amused voice had him looking around wildly, and he nearly collided with a tree as his eyes met the dark gaze of the phantom Indian that he and Sam had encountered the night before.

"She usually doesn't take to strangers."

The wolf whined, its tail beating against the dirt as it stared up at Dean.

Dean tried to stand up straight, his hand going to his still aching chest. "Yeah? I have that effect on most women." Of course when women pounced on him, he usually had a soft bed behind him to break the fall.

The Indian laughed. "You have spirit. My dreams told me that you would-like the Mountain Lion. It is not an easy totem to possess, but you do well with it."

"Where are we?" Dean asked, ignoring the man's confusing words, and finally gathering enough of his bearings to look around him.

He was outside, that much was obvious, and it was dark. Only hills and sparse trees cast looming shadows in the distance. A small fire burned within a circle of rocks, and the old man sat cross-legged beside it, opposite of Dean.

"We are nowhere, yet everywhere."

"Great," Dean rolled his eyes. "And I thought Dad was into Yoda-speak."

"I would explain, but that would only make your head hurt worse."

Dean involuntarily reached up and rubbed at the back of his head. It did hurt. A lot.

"Who are you?"

"Who do you think I am?"

"The asshole who owes me a tire, a window, and some new upholstery."

"I did not attack you, Mountain Lion."

"Right." Dean looked at the wolf, who was still staring at him with great affection. "And wolves aren't indigenous to Arizona."

"Not anymore." The man motioned for Dean to sit. "There is no longer room for things as free as she and I."

Not seeing much chance of going anywhere else and not entirely sure of the ability of his legs to keep him upright, Dean carefully lowered himself to the ground again, flinching slightly when his new friend decided to join him. The wolf curled up near his feet, emitting a small whine, her head resting on her paws in a dog-like fashion.

"What do you want from me?"

The old man shrugged. "In the beginning I only wanted for you to leave."

Dean frowned. "So you didattack us."

The Indian shook his head. "I did not, but the Crow wanted you to think that I had. He is a master at manipulation."

Dean rubbed wearily at his eyes, hoping like hell he was still asleep somewhere curled in a soft warm bed. "Mountain lions, crows, and a wolves-Oh My!"

"It is not for you to understand, but do know that you have jeopardized us all by your desperate need to come here. You have risked what is most precious to you, and brought more years of pain for me and those I love. You have placed yourself in great jeopardy. "

Dean glared at the man. "I didn't ask to come here. I was sent here for a job."

"You are looking for someone who isn't here, and have stumbled upon what you were trying to avoid."

"I did what I had to do."

The Indian smiled patiently. "The coyote also believes chasing his tail is prudent."

"Whatever, Chief So Full of Bull."

"You have given the Crow his fire, and now _you_ must fix it. Only you will be able to because the spell has been cast."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Dean felt another sudden stabbing pain in his head and he couldn't help the gasp that escaped him.

"You will." The old Indian looked off into the darkness and the wolf whined again. "Our time grows short. He is stronger than I imagined."

Dean held his head with both hands to keep it from falling off his shoulders. "He-who?"

"Follow your instincts, Mountain Lion." He smiled. "We will talk again."

The flames of the fire grew larger, leaping out at Dean. He jerked back, glancing up to see the old man's face waver before him through the orange and red glow between them, then his image faded away like smoke.

The wolf got to its feet, barking once, before turning and running off into the darkness.

"Great," Dean groaned as the ground beneath him suddenly shifted and began to feel less solid, mud-like.

He let go of his pounding head and pressed his hands against the earth, trying to lift himself up, only to see his fingers slip beneath the surface as if in quicksand.

Panic overcame him as his feet disappeared too, and then he was falling once more.

This time the landing wasn't hard, but waking up was a whole hell of a lot more painful.

"Ow." Dean blinked, trying to lift his hand to his pounding skull without much success. "That's going to leave a mark."

"Dean?" Sam's frightened voice cleared what was left of the murky fog surrounding Dean's thoughts and he forced his eyes open. "Dean, can you hear me?"

"People in Phoenix can hear you, Sammy. Shut the hell up." Dean attempted to roll over on his side, his head, threatening to explode with even that slightest of movement.

His groan of pain had his brother leaning over the gaping hole in the floor, and Dean had to squeeze his eyes shut as the bright glare of the flashlight nearly blinded him. "I'm coming down. Just hold on."

"Watch that first step," Dean managed, curling into himself, and wondering what in the hell had just happened.

His mind conjured an image of the large white wolf that had moments before been about to eat him and he stared into the darkness to make sure he was alone, in case he needed to warn Sam.

However, a rope was the only thing that appeared out of the blackness, and it had been tossed through the hole from above him. The heavy knotted end landed a couple of inches away from Dean's face, and soon Sam's feet joined it.

"Dean?" Sam quickly knelt near his brother, his hands going to either side of Dean's face. "Are you okay?"

"That depends…"

"On," Sam's eyes were searching his older brother's face with such worry and intensity that Dean had to resist the urge to reach out to comfort _him_.

"Is my head still attached to my body?"

Sam closed his eyes and smiled. Sometimes he believed that Dean could be on death's door and still find a way to laugh at the Grim Reaper. "Yeah it's still there." He let his hand slide through Dean's dirt covered hair until he found the huge lump he was looking for. "Although you're going to probably wish it wasn't." Sam felt the wet stickiness of blood and gently pulled his hand away.

"Man, what the hell did I land on?"

Sam felt around in the dirt by his brother and to his surprise uncovered what looked to be a metal strong box. "This."

He held up the rusted find and Dean groaned. "Please tell me it's filled with gold."

Sam tried to pry the lid open but the sturdy lock wouldn't give. "If your hard head didn't bust it open, then I'm guessing we're going to have to take it back with us and find a blow torch."

"Cute," Dean smirked. "If it is treasure, I'm not sharing."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Sam discarded the box for the moment and ran his hands over his brother's arms, chest, and legs, thankful not to find any protruding bones. It was a miracle considering the good twelve feet that Dean had fallen.

Dean did a quick mental run down. Nothing felt broken or dislodged, although he was sure he wasn't going to be moving too well in the morning. "No, I'm good."

"Sure you are." Sam slipped an arm beneath his older brother's shoulders and helped him to a sitting position. "What happened?"

Dean swallowed hard, trying to bring some moisture to his mouth. He was sure he'd swallowed more than his fair share of dirt, dust and other unknown substances, and for some reason he tasted smoke. "I saw that wolf from before. It attacked me."

Sam quickly reached out and lifted his brother's chin so he could see into his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Dean swatted him away, and sighed. "I'm telling you the truth."

"I didn't see any wolf, Dean." Sam glanced around the small area they were sitting in, wanting to accept what his brother was saying, but finding it difficult. "We're alone." After all, Dean had a head wound. He could have been in shock or hallucinating.

Dean also looked around at the tiny dirt room they were in, deciding that maybe it had all been a bad dream. "What the hell is this place?"

Sam sighed and glanced at the wooden boxes and barrels strewn around them. "I'm guessing that you found the hidden root cellar."

Dean raised his head to look up at the hole above them. "Lucky me. What's the prize?"

Sam stood up with a sigh and pulled his unsteady partner to his feet also. "The prize is that now you get to climb up that rope and hope it holds our weight."

Dean sighed. "Have I mentioned how much I hate this fucking town, Sam?"

"A couple of times, yeah." Sam gave his brother a boost and waited for his boots to disappear over the lip of the floor above them.

Once he was sure Dean had safely reached the top, he tied the rope around the lock box, so that he could pull it up after him and started the climb himself.

"Something really freaky happened here, Sammy, " Dean told him once Sam had reached the top and was slowly pulling up the box behind him.

His brother was sitting not too far from where the floor had given way, and Sam didn't miss the fact that he was breathing harshly and had worked up quite sweat on his climb up.

"Yeah, you're telling me." Sam didn't even want to think about what had happened to him in the barn. Seeing things in his nightmares was one thing, but he was wide awake, and he wasn't quite ready to deal with whatever that meant for him.

Dean picked up his EMF, that was lying in the dust along with the flashlight he had dropped when the wolf had attacked him, and looked at it. "No, I mean just now. This thing went crazy right before the lights went out."

"You think a spirit put you in that hole?" Sam bent down in front of his brother and bit his lip as he got another good look at the older hunter's pale pallor and the blood marring the side of Dean's face. He looked much worse in the brighter light. This was twice he'd almost lost his brother on this stupid hunt, sponsored by no other than John Winchester.

Dean rested his head in his hands. " I told you what landed me in that cellar, Sam."

"Right. White Fang?"

Dean lifted his head and glared. Okay, now Sam was being the smart ass."No, it was a girl wolf."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to even know how you know that?"

Dean wasn't quite sure of that answer himself, but he knew it was true. "Just trust me."

His younger brother nodded. He did trust Dean, with his life. He took his brother by the arm and pulled him to his feet for the second time that day. "So now you're the psychic?"

"Shut-up," Dean growled, needing to lean against Sam more than he wanted to. "This family can't handle any more freakiness than it already has."

Sam smiled, leading his brother outside and to the car. "Next thing we know Dad may be hosting a talk show."

"Speaking of Dad," Dean closed his eyes against a sudden feeling of dizziness and tried his damnedest to stay upright. "He's not here."

Sam would have laughed if anything about the situation would have been even remotely funny. "I've noticed." He let go of his brother once they reached the Impala and held out his hand for the keys. "I didn't really expect him to be."

Dean fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Sam. "I'm sorry."

The youngest Winchester had started around the car, but stopped at his brother's apology and looked sharply back at Dean. Apparently, he was hurt worse than he had originally thought. "For what?"

Dean shook his head, looking past the homestead into the desert beyond it. There was a strong feeling of dread starting to stir in the very pit of his gut, like the beginnings of a dust storm. "I'm not sure," he whispered more to himself than Sam.

And he wasn't sure, although a faintnagging memory told him it was bad.

In the distance he caught the glimpse of a shimmering blur of white and he swallowed hard. Maybe Sam really wasn't the only freak in the family.

Chapter 5.…Coming Soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Negative Effect

By: Ridley C. James & Williamson M. Scott

Rating: T

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

Author's Notes: This may be the last chapter until after the Holidays, but Will and I want to say thanks so much for all the really great reviews and I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and Kwanza and any other observed Holiday I might have missed.

Now-on with the reading.

Sam looked across the small distance separating him from his brother, who was sitting in the passenger's seat of the Impala, and tried to calm the feeling of unease that had settled over him. The vision he'd had in the barn was still too fresh in his mind. He had a sudden urge to reach out and touch the other man, to reassure himself that Dean was still there and not a mirage, but withdrawing a bloody stump wasn't something he wanted to endure at the moment.

Dean was fine. He was always fine.

As if sensing the silent scrutiny and turmoil, the hunter in question turned his head and smirked at his brother. "That picture might not have been such a bad idea. They last longer you know."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to the road that would lead them into the heart of New Hope once more. Yep, he was fine. Just fine. "Are you sure we shouldn't stop by the hospital and have you checked out? It's only about ten minutes from here, right over the county line in Bowie."

Dean pushed himself up straighter in the seat. There was no way he wanted to go to a hospital, not when he'd fought so hard to stay the hell out of one. Even the concerned look on his kid brother's face wouldn't convince him. This time, he'd hold the Sammy Jinx at bay. "I'm good." _For about the tenth time_.

"You can patch me up when we get back to the inn and then we need to talk to the first victim's family, after we get this box to Morry-the magic mechanic." Dean nodded to the strong box, which they had discovered was not only padlocked, but rusted shut from the inside. Evidently, Sam had been right about the blow torch. " It's already late, and we're no where closer to the truth about whatever is going on than we were the day we got Dad's email."

The younger Winchester sighed-not willing to comment on the issue of their father-and raked a hand through his hair. For a moment, his vision blurred and he rubbed at his tired eyes. The lack of sleep from the previous night must have been catching up with him. "Fine." He was beginning to think that Pre-Med might have been the field he should have chosen after all. Being a Winchester offered a wealth of hands-on opportunities. "But don't whine if I have to shave your head to stitch it up."

"You're not coming near me with a pair of scissors or clippers, Sam."

Sam laughed. "You trust me to keep you alive, but not to cut your hair?"

"Asked, Shaggy," Dean scoffed. "Sorry, dude, but you really need a grasp of your own fashion sense before you start butchering someone else's."

Sam glared at his older brother as his previous insult was rearranged and tossed back at him. "It's all fun and games until someone hemorrhages to death, big brother."

Dean laughed, wincing as the motion shook his aching head and abused body. Sometimes Sam could be half funny. "I think I'm rubbing off on you."

The younger hunter shrugged. "If you can be the freaky psychic, spirit magnet, I can be the morbid, smart ass armed with dark humor for a change."

Dean grinned. "Maybe- but you're never going to be the handsome one. Just accept it, Sam."

Sam shook his head and pushed the Metallica tape into the player, letting it fill the car with the sharp reverberating sound of steel guitars. "Shut-up, Dean."

Lucky for Sam that the cut on Dean's head wasn't severe enough to warrant stitches, and despite the fact he had some major bruising on his side and back, his brother was basically alright. The Winchesters were nothing if not resilient.

The wound from the night before had reopened and needed to be bandaged again, but Sam considered himself and Dean lucky. After all, in the vision things had been much worse.

The youngest Winchester reached up and rubbed at his forehead. A headache had started making itself known soon after they had left the old homestead, and after dealing with Dean's injuries it had only increased.

"You alright?" Dean's deep voice had Sam glancing up and then blinking as the late afternoon sun sent little shards of pain stabbing into his brain.

"Fine." Sam noticed that the other man had showered and changed, and if not for the quickly darkening bruise on his cheek, and the slightly glassy look of his eyes, Dean would have seemed like his normal, cocky self. The younger Winchester's eyes still went to his brother's chest-no blood, no jagged wound, only the necklace that Sam had bought him so many years before. He cleared his throat. "You ready? We can drop the strong box by the garage on the way to the late Reverend Kaplan's?"

"Yeah." Dean opened the passenger's door to the Chevy and waited for Sam to do the same on his side. "You want to be good reporter, or bad reporter?"

"The woman is in her seventies, Dean."

His older brother shrugged. "Old people can be shifty, Sam."

"Dave said that the Reverend's wife was a sweet old lady."

"And your point?"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My point is simple." Sam slid into the driver's seat and started the car. Patience was something he _had _learned from his father. "It being that you're an idiot."

Mrs. Eliza Kaplan smiled sweetly as she sat a silver serving tray with a China tea pot and three cups down on her mahogany coffee table. The two young, handsome reporters reminded her of her grandsons and she was actually glad for the company- even if the reason that brought them to her home still held misery.

"It's been so quiet around here these days without my Harry." Eliza sat in a chair near Dean and picked up the kettle. "After someone dies there's always so many people around in the beginning- family and friends trying to give comfort and support. It makes the being alone harder when they all go back to their normal lives." She shook her head slightly as she poured Dean some tea and then filled Sam's cup. "I hope you boys have never lost anyone close to you."

The brothers shared a look and Dean answered her. "I lost my mother a long time ago, but I remember what it's like."

Eliza paled. "You poor dear. My Harry and I got to spend a lifetime together, I suppose I should be thankful for that."

"We don't mean to upset you, Mrs. Kaplan." Sam leaned forward and took a cookie from the plate the woman was now holding up to him. "We were just hoping to ask you a few questions about what happened to your husband."

"It's been two months already, but I still feel as though it were just yesterday." Eliza sipped her tea. "We were married forty years, you know."

"Do you remember anything that your husband might have done out of the ordinary before he got sick- any place he might have gone?"

"Oh no," Eliza shook her head at Sam's question. "Harry was a creature of habit, not very adventurous I'm afraid. He liked his life well-ordered and in control." She smiled sadly. "He lived for his congregation and the church. His work was his life, and his family was his passion, so he stayed close to home."

Sam nodded, not wanting to push, but knowing that he and his brother needed as much information as possible. "Do you remember when he first started getting sick?"

The reverend's widow nodded. "Yes, a few months back. Our youngest daughter was visiting. She was the apple of her daddy's eye." Eliza stood and went to a stone mantle over the fire place. She picked up a silver frame and handed it to Dean. "That's Carmen and her father. It was taken just a few days before Harry passed away. I'm so glad she talked him into taking it."

Dean looked at the smiling preacher dressed in a cowboy hat and buckskin coat. He was holding a rifle and his daughter was sitting on a bar stool. She was made up to look like a saloon girl, and was holding a bottle of some type of whiskey. "They look happy."

Eliza laughed. "Harry was faking it. He hated to have his picture made, but my daughter and her boys begged him. The kids got a big kick out of Grandpa dressing up as an old cowboy." She took the photo back from Dean and hugged it to her chest. "They adored him."

Sam sat his cup on the table, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Kaplan. "Had your husband been sick in the past?"

Mrs. Kaplan returned the picture to the mantle and then made her way back to her chair. "Nothing serious. He was in excellent shape for a man his age. When Harry first started to feel bad we thought it might be the flu, or maybe a stomach bug. It wasn't until his fever spiked one evening that we began to worry. My daughter and I took him to the hospital, and never did get to bring him back home."

She sighed deeply as if the memories physically hurt. "He was dead within three days of showing any symptoms." Her brown eyes sought out Sam's. "The doctors still can't tell me what took my husband from me, and now there's been two more. They died the same way, and no one can tell us why."

Sam swallowed hard, understanding the woman's frustration and disillusionment all too well. He could feel his brother's eyes on him. "It's never easy to lose someone to something you can't confront."

"If I had a name for it, it'd help. I know that sounds crazy, but it's how I feel. Maybe I could let go."

Dean pulled his gaze from his brother, pushing down the twinge of concern he always got when Sam was forced to remember his own recent loss. "You don't buy the theory it had something to do with the Paraguayan fruit then?"

Eliza looked at Dean as if he'd grown a second head. "Pish-posh, dear. My Harry never ate anything he couldn't pronounce. I believe that story almost as much as I believe the one about New Hope being cursed."

The Winchesters exchanged glances and Sam looked at the widow. "You've heard about the curse?"

"I figured that's what brought you boys from the city." She smiled sympathetically. "Everyone likes the idea of mysterious legends, but I've lived here for forty years and I've never seen so much as a feather or arrow head, let along an Indian spirit running around killing people."

For the second time that day, Dean wanted to point out that he had seen one arrow up close and personal, but he held his tongue. Sometimes it was truly better not to get into the whole 'the truth is out there' speech. Ignorance could sometimes be a blessing.

"Did you know any of the other victims?" Sam watched as Eliza folded the napkin in her lap and then unfolded it again.

"I knew Marcus Kinkade. He was our local weatherman, always making and selling those crazy weather vanes of his." She smiled sadly. "He was a nice man-if not a bit eccentric. He left a wife behind, and a little boy."

She sighed. "The young woman was a tourist, I think-or was she here working. I can't really remember the whole story, but I know she was an artist of some sort. I hadn't seen her before the picture that came out in the paper." Eliza looked at the brothers. "You might want to talk to Carolyn, Marcus' wife, I think she met the woman's fiancé before he left town."

Dean nodded and set his tea cup back on the silver platter. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Kaplan, but I think we should be going."

"Oh, alright, if you must." The woman stood and smiled at both brothers. "Perhaps if you boys are still in town on Sunday, you could stop by the church. The Ladies of New Hope always cook a big lunch afterwards. Everyone is invited."

"That sounds nice, mam." Sam shook the woman's hand. "Thanks for the tea."

Eliza led the Winchesters out and then waved to them before turning and disappearing back into her home.

"Yeah, she sure was manipulative." Sam smirked at his brother once the woman had gone. He started to step off the front steps of the Kaplan's porch, when the ground seemed to shift beneath him. It was as if his center of gravity suddenly deserted him, and he was pretty sure he'd have fallen flat on his face if familiar strong hands hadn't reached out to steady him.

"Sam?" The worried voice that accompanied the save, had Sam shaking his head, and trying to reclaim his equilibrium.

"I'm okay," was out of his mouth even before the ground stopped spinning, but Dean didn't let him go until they'd both made it down the stairs safely.

"Sure you are." Dean searched his brother's face for any trace of distress, and frowned when Sam reached up to rub at his head again. "What's going on with you? I'm the one with the head wound- remember?"

Sam finally found stable footing again, and forced a smile on his face. "Maybe the tea was spiked-or the cookies could have been laced with something."

Dean recognized the familiar tactics. "Seriously Sam, I'm the one who's been shot and attacked by a rabid wolf. If anyone should be dizzy, it should be me."

The younger hunter took a deep breath, letting the cool air clear his senses. He looked at his brother. "I'm okay. Must be the lack of sleep." Sam had a hunch it was something more, maybe a hangover type reaction from what he had experienced in the barn, but since he hadn't mentioned the vision to Dean, he didn't think it a good idea to bring it up now. "Or maybe I just need some real food."

Dean tore his gaze away from his brother long enough to glance at the western horizon. The sun was almost gone now. "We might as well grab some dinner and call it a night."

"I can hold out if you want to go to the Kinkade house first."

"No, we'll go there first thing in the morning. Besides, I want to hear about this interesting information your girlfriend Sally helped you dig up."

Sam shook his head, knowing his brother was covering up his concern. "The Jalapeño?"

Dean frowned. "Why not. Maybe we'll see Elvis and he could put at least one Winchester mystery to rest."

There was no one even remotely resembling Elvis at the little café, which resembled some of the nicer places Dean had visited in frequent trips to Mexican border towns-with it's hot pepper lights and sombrero shaped salt and pepper shakers.

Their waitress was cute though, and Dean found himself adding one more thing to his very short list of things to actually like about New Hope.

The food wasn't half bad either- Sheriff Landers was right about the burgers- not that Sam would have noticed either way.

"You're not eating." Dean looked down at his brother's barely touched cheeseburger, and then to Sam who was currently engrossed in one of the books on Native American legends that he'd checked out of the library.

"I'm not as hungry as I thought." He looked up at Dean. "Did you know that some people believed that Geronimo could change himself into an animal," a faint smile played on his lips, "a white wolf to be exact."

Dean ignored the Geronimo comment and the dig at him. "_You're_ not hungry? The human garbage disposal isn't eating his favorite grease-drenched, truck-stop variety cheeseburger?"

Sam sighed and closed the book. "I did eat a big breakfast."

"That's never stopped you before. You're always hungry."

"Not today." The younger Winchester looked back to his notes. "I thought you wanted to hear what I had found out so far."

Dean finished his beer and leaned back against the booth seat. "Go ahead, little brother. Amaze away."

Sam leaned forward, pushing his untouched plate out of the way so he could spread his notes out. "When Rose said this sort of thing had happened before, she was right. Like I said out at the homestead, there were five victims then. It happened in 1955. Seems the newspapers accredited it to some kind of chemical leak that seeped into Canyon Lake from a factory that use to be around there, although no hard evidence was ever found." Sam glanced at his brother. "All the deaths took place in a short time span, and stopped just as suddenly as they had started."

"That was fifty years ago. Did you go back farther to see if there was a pattern?"

Sam rolled his eyes as if his brother thought he was an idiot. "Of course. The records were sketchy from 1905, but I did find mention of an obituary for the town preacher. It seems that he was the fifth person to die from a strange sickness that had been sweeping through the town."

"Another preacher, and again with the number five." Dean frowned. "There has to be a connection."

Sam nodded. "Someone else thought so too. I didn't look at all the stuff Sally photocopied until now. But this jumped out at me."

Sam held up the replicated paper of what looked to be a duplication of a clipping from a newspaper or magazine. Dean raised an eyebrow and his brother rushed on. "This was written by a reporter named Reese Matthers. His wife was one of the victims back in 1955. The article was about Geronimo and the connection to the deaths-it sounds like something straight out of the _National Inquirer_."

Something Rose had said back in Tortilla Flats floated through Dean's thoughts. "Rose said her dad was a reporter, and that her mom had died in New Hope."

Sam nodded. "I thought the same thing."

"So what about this Reese? Any way to know if he's still around anywhere?"

"I'm not sure, but I thought I'd go back and ask Sally about it in the morning. She would have been close to his age." Sam shook his head and sighed. "I still haven't found anything that really links any of this to a curse."

His older brother shrugged. "Maybe we're not looking in the right places."

Sam frowned. "Do you really buy the curse idea?"

"I've never seen a curse act like this on a group of people with no apparent connections. I mean there's an Imprint- like when something terrible happens and a certain place is tagged by it's tragedy- like Ground Zero in New York, or that bugged out realty development. I guess it could be a spell of some sort, but those are usually cast on one person or an object."

A faint lop-sided smile appeared on Sam's face and Dean knew exactly what he was thinking. "Don't say it!"

The smile grew and dimples flashed. "Just like in New Orleans."

"I told you not to say it."

"Man, you couldn't stop scratching for days."

"Laugh it up, Sammy. I almost died."

At that Sam did laugh. "Did not, you big baby. The spell was more of an aggravation than anything, but you did look like a Dalmatian for a while."

"I'm glad my suffering amuses you."

"I told you not to touch that box."

"If I recall, I touched it to keep you from touching it. You were such a brat sometimes." Dean shook his head. "Still are."

"Like Dad always said, you have a way with evil things."

"I have a _way_ with women, little brother. I just have a knack for pissing off everything evil."

"Yeah, well, if Dad hadn't found that High Priestess, who knows how things might have turned out."

"Shut-up." Dean tossed a fry at his brother.

Sam grinned in triumph. He loved sticking it to his brother, especially since he so rarely happened on anything that left Dean at a loss for a quick, smart-ass comeback. "You using that jacket?"

Dean looked at the rolled up leather coat tucked into the seat beside him. "You mean my favorite leather jacket which now has a huge hole in it."

"Yeah, that one. How's the arm by the way?"

Dean rolled his left shoulder, actually surprised by how little it did hurt. "It's good." He wasn't going to be dissuaded by Sam's diversionary tactics. "Are you cold?"

"Yeah, I left my coat in the car."

Dean eyed his brother warily. "Are you feeling alright? First you get dizzy, and now you're passing up cheeseburgers and you're cold." Something scratched at the back of Dean's thoughts, trying to pry itself into the impenetrable fortress of his unacknowledged fears.

"I'm fine," Sam lied. In all honesty he felt like shit, but telling his blood hound of a brother that was not an option.

"Sure you are," Dean handed the jacket to him and motioned to the cute waitress for their check. "I think it's time we both got some sleep."

Sam pulled the worn leather jacket on, feeling a sudden sense of relief from the cold that had seeped into his body sense leaving the Kaplan home. "You sure you don't want to go by the Kinkade's? It's not very late."

"We have plenty of time to do that tomorrow before we meet with the Sheriff." Seeing the stubborn look on Sam's face, Dean held up his hands. "Look, I'm tired, okay. Maybe _I_ need some sleep."

Sam didn't buy it for a minute. The worry reflected in his brother's hazel eyes was completely clear to him, but given that chills were starting to course through his body he decided to play along. "I forget that old people aren't only shifty, but that they need more rest."

"Cute," Dean smirked, tossing a twenty on the table and standing up to go. "Just so long as you _remember_ that I can still kick your ass."

Sam stood up and gathered his notes and books and followed his brother out. The cold, night air had him shivering and he was glad Dean wasn't watching as his arms involuntarily tightened around his midsection. The pain in his stomach had started shortly after he had sat down to eat, but that was easily attributed to the junk food he'd consumed on this latest job. His overactive imagination was merely trying to catch up with him._Right? _

"You've got the keys." Dean turned towards his brother, as they reached their car that they had left parked in the alley beside the café. "They're in my jacket pocket."

Sam patted both pockets and frowned. "Sorry, bro, they're not in here."

"Damn," Dean sighed. "They must have fallen out in the booth." He started for the door of the café again. "I'll be back."

Sam watched him go, momentarily wondering if Dean had left the keys on purpose. If he came back with that waitress's number Sam was going to be seriously pissed. Forget his brother's libido. He was cold and achy now, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a warm bed and catch up on the sleep that had evaded him the previous night.

The youngest Winchester put his research on top of the Impala's roof and leaned his head against his crossed arms, willing the stabbing pain in his skull to a tolerable level.

"He has you in his grasp."

Sam whirled, his body instinctively going to defensive posture.

Their phantom Indian friend had returned.

"The crow will take the fire and then his set will be complete."

"Who are you?"

Sam eyed the man cautiously. He was still in the shadows, but from the hunter's position, the old man's face was visible and it held a look of what Sam thought could almost pass as sympathy-or regret.

"His power comes from the five great gods-but that is not what keeps him here. To release him, to set us free, you will have to let go of that which you treasure."

"I don't understand."

"Take my hand, and you will."

The look of misery and confusion on his brother's face instantly caught Dean's attention as he approached the Impala, but the Indian figure that had just materialized out of the dark shadows in front of Sam had every protective instinct kicking into overdrive.

Dean reached for the gun he had tucked into the back of his jeans about the same time that the Indian reached out for Sam.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, bringing both gazes to him.

"Sam!" Dean made a grab for his brother, but the old man was too quick.

He grabbed the unsuspecting hunter's arm, jerked him around, and had his arm wrapped around Sam's throat before either Winchester could react. His free hand came up and around grabbing a fistful of Sam's hair, and jerking his head back. "You will listen to my words, young ones."

Despite the somewhat frail appearance he'd first made, this was not the old man they'd mistaken him for. His face was deeply lined, and his black eyes held a haunted quality that only the wizened and weary contained, but his stare was sharp and hard, and his intent deadly serious. He was obviously corporeal and not like any demon Dean had encountered. Demons and poltergeists rarely took the time to have conversations or hold hostages.

To prove Dean's newest appraisal, he expertly applied pressure to Sam's throat demonstrating his ability to snap the younger man's neck.

Sam gasped involuntarily, his hands coming up to claw at the man's arm that was efficiently cutting off his oxygen.

He had the displeasure of watching Dean's face twist into a look of rage. "Let him go." The older Winchester's voice was calm, but icy and the gun he held never wavered from the Indian's face. "Get your fucking hands off my brother."

"I tried to warn you to leave, and then we were not allowed to finish our talk, Mountain Lion. You must listen to me now if you are to save your brother."

A faint memory nagged at Dean, the Indian's words sounding hauntingly familiar as his mind tried to retrieve something not quite attainable.

"You call trying to kill me and my car a warning?"

"I have already told you that I had nothing to do with what you speak of. I have no desire to harm you, I merely wanted you to leave."

"If you don't want to harm anyone, let my brother go."

Sam struggled to stay on his feet as more of his air was cut off." You have sealed all of our fates. I will remain a prisoner and your brother will soon join the other lost ones and all your struggles will be for naught."

"I don't know what you're talking about, old man, but if you hurt my brother you won't have to worry about being anyone's prisoner. Trust me."

The old Indian sighed. "Your weapons will not harm me, or the Crow. This one," Sam hissed in pain as once again his head was jerked back farther, "shares my guide. We are both born of fire- we see that which has not yet come to pass-but you, your power will hold the key in the end."

Every muscle in Dean's body was tense, strumming with the threat to Sam. Forget whatever the hell Chief So Full of Bull was saying. Dean was amazed that his hand was so steady as he slowly squeezed the trigger, challenging the old Indian's resolve. Bullets wouldn't do much to a poltergeist, or whatever the hell he was, but it was all he had at the moment. "Guess what? I'm psychic too-and I see that you're about to go straight back to the Spirit world if you don't let him go."

A low growl from out of the dark had Dean's eyes glancing towards the shadows and then back to the Indian. The wolf slowly walked out, circling the three men, it's tail swishing behind it.

"Navarre believes you are trustworthy-despite your head made of stone." The Indian nodded to the wolf. "I have never known her to be wrong." Man and beast shared a look. "You must find the Soul Collector and destroy his power before he completes the pentagram. But be warned, Water will soon be his, and his desire will grow. If you can keep him from the flame, Mountain Lion, you may save us all." As quickly as the capture had happened, the release came, and Dean found himself struggling to keep his brother on his feet.

Sam coughed, trying to pull in the sweet oxygen he'd been denied. Bright spots danced in his field of vision and he was sure he would have hit the ground if Dean hadn't been holding on to him so tightly. "Sam? Sammy, damn it, talk to me."

Dean had managed to push his younger, yet taller brother against the car and was holding him there by the lapels of his own jacket. "It's Sam." Sam coughed again, playing their familiar game.

"Sure it is," Dean sighed with relief. He didn't even bother to turn around, knowing that the Indian and his four-legged friend would be gone. "Are you alright?"

Sam reached up and rubbed at his burning throat. "Peachy."

"If I ever get my hands on Tonto, he is just going to wish I was as subtle as Custer."

"What the hell was he talking about? Do you think he was telling the truth about not being the one to attack us?"

Dean returned his gun to the back of his jeans and rubbed at his stiff arm. He had a feeling that the old man was telling the truth-that he'd already told Dean the truth once before. Of course that idea was way too freaky to be contemplated, so Dean did what he usually did when he didn't like something- he mentally salted and toasted the thought. "I don't know. I don't know what the hell to think of any of this."

"Can we go back to the hotel now?"

Dean eyed his brother for a moment before using his fingers to gently probe at the red marks maligning his throat. "You sure you don't need to be checked out."

"What I need is a hot shower and some sleep. That's it."

Dean shook his head. "You need a keeper, that's what you need."

Sam forced a slight smile. "And here all this time I thought I had one."

They'd reached the inn without further incident and Sam had gotten his hot shower, and had even managed to eat some leftover muffins that Maggie had sent up to their room.

"What do you make of that pentagram talk?" Dean was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The youngest Winchester was now curled on his side, facing the wall, trying to will himself to sleep and to block out the nausea threatening to spurn him from the warmth of the bed. "I don't know. Before you came out, he mentioned something about five gods."

"Well a pentagram has _five_ sides and we know it can represent a whole of lot of things, from Venus to protection to black magic. There were apparently five deaths the other times that this-whatever _this_ is-happened."

Sam rolled over so he could see his brother in the other bed. "He keeps mentioning fire, and water-could be the elements?"

"But five?" Dean frowned. "Earth, fire, air, water-that's only four."

"Spirit." Sam grinned to himself. "Dad would so ream you a new one for leaving that one out."

The older hunter sighed. "Yeah, well I wish he were here to do it. I really have no fucking clue what's going on, man." And a part of him wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. Maybe getting in the Impala and driving as fast and far away as possible would be the best thing for them all.

Sam could almost feel the frustration in the silence between them. It wasn't like his brother to let a hunt get to him. The thought of Dean not knowing what to do made Sam more than a little nervous. "At least we know one thing for sure."

Dean raised up on his elbow and peered through the darkness at his brother. "Yeah? What's that?"

"Apparently wolves _are_ indigenous to Arizona."

Dean fell back on the bed with a laugh. Maybe he really was wearing off on Sam. "No shit, Sherlock." He glanced over at Sam and even in the dark he could see the other hunter watching him. "That will teach you to doubt me, baby brother."

Sam frowned, despite the joking quality of the other man's voice. "I've never doubted you, Dean." _Hated you. Loved you. Been royally pissed at you. Totally dumbfounded by you-but never doubted you. _

Dean held his gaze for a moment longer, then rolled over with a pained sigh and pulled the cover up around him. "There's a first time for everything, Sam."

_It wasn't the first time he'd been here. The old house always looked the same. _

_The fire is coming now, too-just like is always does. _

_Soon it will be roaring and raging all around him._

_But it's nothing new to him. _

_He's not afraid of it anymore. It's a part of him._

_He can feel the heat seeping through his clothes, scorching his skin, hear the animal-like sounds it makes as it breathes and feeds on everything around him._

_Sam braces himself for the inevitable- the moment when she'll appear- but Jessica doesn't come this time. It's not her lovely face contorted and twisted in the flames. It's not her voice raised in screams of agony and terror. She isn't calling for him to help her. Not this time._

_He thought nothing could hurt as much as watching her suffer and burn, as he stood helpless amidst the chaos- untouched- but he was wrong. This was worse, much worse. _

_Dean was reaching for him through the fire, begging him to help, not to leave him. _

_Flames licked at his brother's clothes, keeping him from moving closer to Sam. The shock of seeing his brother trapped in the burning house with him instead of Jess paralyzed him with fear. He couldn't move, couldn't scream. He could only watch as if he were held captive, being forced to view a movie he couldn't stop or change. _

_Dean was screaming now. Had he ever heard Dean scream? No. Dean was invincible- untouchable._

_Suddenly, Sam was moving towards his brother, determined to save him or die trying. _

_But hands were holding him back now, instead of the flames. _

_He pulled against them, silently begging them to let him go-but they held fast. _

"_It's too late, Sammy. He's gone." A familiar voice rose above the roaring massacre and echoed in his ears, and an old anger swept through him like the heat of the fire. _You shouldn't be here. _The thought screamed through his mind._

_His brother was dying, slowly and painfully, and all Sam could do was watch as the only person he had left-his only family-was torn from him. Finally, his voice seemed to return and his screams of fury and denial joined with Dean's pain-filled pleas. _

"Dean!"

"Hey, Sammy, come on wake up." Dean was beginning to worry. He'd woken at the very first sign of the nightmare. It was happening less frequently these days but he was still use to this routine jolting him from his sound sleep. But this wasn't one of his brother's typical dreams about Jessica's death.

For one, he was yelling for him and not his dead girl friend, and the sorrow-wrenched sound of his kid brother's voice tore at him. "Sam!" He shook his brother again, determined to stop whatever was hurting his brother, and the younger man's eyes flew open. He jerked himself to a seated position, almost tumbling Dean from his position on the side of the bed.

"Oh, God." Sam's breath was coming in quick rapid pants, evidence to his racing heart and pulse.

"Take it easy, pal."

Sam looked startled to see his brother sitting close to him in the dark, just now realizing that Dean had a hold of his shoulder. "Dean?"

His kid brother's voice was hoarse and still held a trace of fear from the night terror. "Yeah, it's me. You okay?"

The reply was as startling as being awoken by the younger Winchester yelling for him. Sam grabbed hold of him and clung to him. Dean could feel his brother trembling as his hands wrapped in the back of his T-shirt and held on for dear life.

Helpless was not a feeling he was use to, but that was the dominant emotion overwhelming him at the moment. Sam hadn't been like this since he was a little kid and would sneak into Dean's room after a bad dream- or after something bad had encountered or attacked their family.

Dean knew he pretty much sucked in the comfort department- avoided such moments like the plague- but for Sam, he'd try it. Surely he could remember how he use to chase his little brother's demons away. "Sammy, calm down, it's alright. You're okay."

The older Winchester could feel the heat radiating off his brother as he held him, trying to offer whatever the hell it was that Sam needed. He rubbed his hand over Sam's damp hair. "Take it easy."

Sam suddenly released him and pushed away, nearly falling as he stumbled his way into the small bathroom on the other side of the room. Dean could hear his brother being sick as he stood up and made his way to the doorway, giving the younger man what little privacy the small suite would allow them.

It was mercifully quick and it wasn't long before Dean heard the sink running and his kid brother emerged looking even more pale and shaken than he had before.

Their eyes met and Dean tried to force a smile. "We're going to have to get you another visit with a shrink or some really powerful sleeping drugs, dude."

Sam nodded. "Sorry," his voice was rough from sleep and he looked like shit. He was still trembling, even though sweat glistened on his face and neck.

Dean took a step closer and put his hand to Sam's forehead. "You're burning up, man."

The younger man moved away and shook his head. "I'm okay. It was just the dream."

So, _Sammy_ was back to grown up _Sam_. Dean could do that too. In fact, he preferred it- was better equipped to handle it. "I don't think so. You're sick."

The words were almost painful, but Dean had realized along time ago that the truth could hurt.

Sam turned away from him and made his way slowly back to his bed. "Don't start."

Dean headed for his pack that was still on the floor by the door, and rummaged for the bottle of Tylenol he kept. Taking two capsules out of the bottle and grabbing his unfinished Coke from his midnight raid of the Rest Inn's kitchen, he went back to where his brother was now just a lump under the covers. "Take these, Sam."

His brother rolled over and glared at him, but took the offering just the same. Good thing too, because Dean didn't feel like wrestling him and forcing them down his throat, which he'd also done when Sam was younger. Funny how he'd been Sam's parent more than their own father had. Funny that things still hadn't changed a whole hell of a lot.

Looking into his kid brother's overly bright eyes, he suddenly felt very tired and very angry that their dad was nowhere to be found. He eased himself back onto the bed, continuing to watch Sam.

His brother had been dizzy, cold at the diner, and hadn't had an appetite. Now he had a fever, and had been sick. All flu-like symptoms. Mrs. Kaplan had said her husband had thought he had the flu.

Of course the fever and nausea could have been from whatever sleep-induced trauma Sam had been facing, but the way that the Winchester luck ran, Dean wasn't counting on it.

"I don't have it," Sam gave voice to his fears. "We're not from New Hope, we have no connection here."

The younger Winchester knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He wasn't entirely sure of his lame counter, considering the second victim had no apparent connection to the town either, but he couldn't stand the look on Dean's face. Not so soon after seeing that same face trapped in the deadly flames that had taken Jessica from him.

"Please don't worry." The words the old Indian had said to Sam about the Crow tried to take away whatever security he was trying desperately to salvage and share so he fought them off with a shiver. "I'm okay."

Dean swallowed hard, trying not to choke on the lump that had suddenly sprung to his throat from the deep recesses of worst fears he kept tucked away inside. "Get some sleep." In an uncharacteristic move, he reached out and squeezed his brother's shoulder. "If you're not better in the morning, we'll find the local sawbones in this town and have him check you out."

Sam yawned. "You gonna' have a showdown at noon in the middle of town too?"

"Considering how these last two days have played out-it's a possibility."

He took the Coke from Sam and placed it on the night stand, resisting the urge to pull the covers up and tuck his kid brother in. Sam was a grown man for Christ's sake. Instead, he raked his hands through his hair and made his way to his own bed.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam's voice was quiet, sleep already tugging him back to it's unforgiving embrace.

Dean pushed his worries away, locking them back where they belonged, and slipped under the covers. For some reason his brother's gratitude seemed ironic and the older hunter felt a rush of guilt overwhelm him. "Goodnight, Sammy."

Chapter 6- Coming Soon

Merry Christmas& Happy Holidays!


	6. Chapter 6

Negative Effect

Chapter 6

By: Ridley and Will

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Author's notes: Thanks so much for being patient with us. Hopefully the updates will come much quicker now. We've about got this puppy wrapped up. For all those who wrote and asked about this story-it was your interest that kept me up late typing. ;')

Author's side notes: Fiction is greatly dispersed among the small factual tidbits we have incorporated about witchcraft and pentagrams. No disrespect to any beliefs or religion was intended.

"You're staring at me again," Sam straightened up in his seat and shot his brother a hard glare.

"Am not." Dean quickly averted his eyes back to the road. "You're not exactly a sight for sore eyes, road kill."

It was true. Sam knew he looked like shit. That was fitting considering that he also felt like shit.

He'd had to do some pretty fancy obfuscating to keep his brother from taking him straight to the hospital after the night they'd had. It wasn't exactly like he'd lied to Dean, he just didn't tell him everything that was going on. Like the pounding drum solo in his head, or the hot knife in his gut. Those weren't necessary admissions at the moment.

"You up for some breakfast?" Dean asked, when his brother didn't even bother to counter his insult. "We can swing by and grab something from the Jalapeño."

Sam's stomach rebelled at the very idea and he leaned his head against the cool window of the passenger's side door. "No."

He was surprised when Dean's hand suddenly rested against the side of his neck. "You're still warm. You feeling sick?"

The younger hunter lifted his head and forced a smile. "I'm just not up to eggs and chilies."

Dean frowned. "I don't like this Sam." He finally withdrew his hand from his brother. "After what the old man said…and then last night." The words hung between them like a heavy fog, but neither brother wanted to give voice to their suspicions or fears.

"I know," Sam sighed. "But we both know that finding out what's going on here is our best bet." It was the closest either of them had come to admitting that Sam might be sick-that he had become a part of what was going on.

"You want to tell me about that dream you had last night?"

Sam swallowed reflexively. He wasn't ready to go there. "No."

"Fine." Dean tightened his hands on the steering wheel and willed himself not to push. Pushing only made Sam pull-and that got them nowhere.

"But I have thought about the whole elements and pentagram thing."

Dean looked at him, slightly relieved at the change of subject. Honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what Sam had dreamed about. "Let's hear it, college boy."

"Well, I looked back over the profiles that I created of the victims. It kind of makes sense. Carly Reins was the artist-she did wood carvings and sculptures. You could postulate that to be a connection to Earth."

"Postulate?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Damn, you are smart."

Sam rolled his eyes but continued on. "Kaplan is obvious- he was a preacher."

Dean nodded. "Spirit."

"And Kinkade-he's a weather man who makes weathervanes-Air."

"That's reaching, Sammy. Hell, I use to fly kites when we were a kid- does that make me a target."

"Maybe the person just has to be a representation of the element."

"But for what purpose?"

Sam sighed. "The pentagram can represent the five elements-right. And it provides protection?"

"Yeah, so. Protection from what?"

"I don't know. But I think if we find that out, we may find out who started all this and be able to stop it."

Dean glanced at him again, but didn't say what he was thinking. _Before it stops us._ "Then let's head over to Morry's Garage and see if that box might have any clues to help us."

Morry McCamis was a big man. He was as tall as Sam and probably weighed twice as much. With his long silver hair and beard and startling blue eyes Dean thought that he was a dead ringer for Santa Claus-that was if Santa wore leather chaps and rode a Harley.

"I got to tell you boys, you've sure added some excitement to my work week." The giant of a man nearly knocked Dean over as he slapped him roughly on the back. Sam bit back a grin.

"First, I get called out to patch up your little lady from an attack by some bad-ass bandit with a bow and arrow of all things." He glanced at Dean, "She is one _sweet_ ride by the way."

"Thanks," Dean said, rubbing his now aching shoulder. He'd only thought all the aches and pains from the fall had disappeared.

"Then, you two bring me a treasure box to open." Morry laughed. "What next? You boys going to hunt down Big Foot and bring him to me to skin, stuff or mount."

The mechanic handed Sam a card. "I do that by the way. Morry's Taxidermy is the finest in three states. If you're staying at the Rest Inn, you've probably seen some of my best work."

Sam shared a quick look with his brother, before reluctantly slipping the card in his shirt pocket. "Yeah, we've seen them." _Freak._

Morry nodded and scratched at his beard, like a hound dog digging fleas. "Miss Maggie sure does love her cats, that's for sure."

"And we'd really love to stay and chat, Morry." Dean flashed the man his cocky grin, "But we sure do have a lot of things to cover for our story, that box being one of them."

"Oh, right, right," Morry hurried over to a lone bench and picked up the metal strong box. "It took me a while, but I finally got the dad-burn thing opened." He handed the box to Dean.

"Sorry but I peeked. Not a damn thing in there but some papers and an old book. No treasure."

"That's too bad," Dean took the box and lifted the lid. Just like Morry said there were some folded documents that were yellowing and wrinkled from time, as well as a leather bound journal. The thing that caught Dean's attention though was the symbol embossed on the cover of the book-it was a pentagram.

The young hunter closed the box and looked at the mechanic. "So how much do we owe you , Morry?"

The big man waved his hand in the air. "Don't worry about it, kid. I'm going to charge you a pretty penny when I put the glass back in that black beauty of yours. So, we'll just call it even."

Dean nodded, not sure if he should feel grateful or worried. "Ready, Sam?"

Sam hadn't missed the look that crossed his brother's face when he'd opened the strong box, and quickly said his goodbyes to Morry. "So?" he questioned, as they made there way back to the car.

Dean sat the box on the hood of the Impala and pulled out the book. "Check this out." He handed it to his brother and then pulled the papers out to look at.

Sam took hold of the journal and brushed his hand over the cover, removing dust and dirt as he did. "This thing looks really old." He traced his fingers over the star-like symbol on the front. "A pentagram."

"Did you see the writing below it?"

Sam read the small, fine, manuscript. "Spells, sorcery, and enchantments." He looked at his brother. "A handbook?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe it's the 1800's version of Witchcraft for Dummies."

"This doesn't make sense." Sam shook his head. "Witchcraft isn't usually demonic or evil in nature. It's actually the opposite."

"Yeah, well tell that to the Wicked Witch of the West, bro. Someone's cooked up a pretty freaky spell and I doubt they did it by wiggling their nose."

Sam rolled his eyes and opened the book. "There's a name in here- Marguerrite Dellacrois. Maybe this belonged to her."

"I don't know about that," Dean mumbled as he read through the documents, "but I can tell you who our favorite condemned haunted homestead belonged to."

Sam raised a brow as Dean shoved the yellowing parchment at him. "This is the title to it." He poked his finger at a scribbled name near the bottom of the last page. "Jebidiah Monroe."

"Why does that sound familiar?"

"Because," Dean frowned, "You're friend the formaldehyde preserved photographer was named Monroe."

"You're never going to let that go-are you?"

His brother took the book back and put it in the box with the papers. "Not in this lifetime, little brother." He then handed Sam the box and walked around the front of the Impala. "Let's make a social call to Ansel Adams."

Sam sighed. No one held a grudge like a Winchester.

Dean rubbed his hand over the dirty window and pressed his face closer to the glass, trying to get a better look inside the photo shop. "No one's here."

They'd come to 'Ye Old Timey Photo' only to find a closed sign hanging on the door and no evidence of the man who had taken their picture.

Sam sat down on the wooden bench lining the covered porch. "Dean, the guy may not have anything to do with _this _Monroe."

"Well, just call it a hunch-but nobody looks that creepy without having something to hide."

Sam smirked. "You said that about your 8th grade English teacher, too. You tried to convince Dad that she was a succubus demon."

Dean stepped away from the door, controlling his urge to smash the glass and let himself in. It was broad daylight after all. He ignored the amused look on his brother's face and stepped back into the street. "Well, Mrs. Unger was old _and_ creepy."

"I liked her."

"_You_ would. Of course, only you would like a succubus demon."

"You just didn't like her because she failed you-twice- if my memory serves me well."

"Shut up." Dean sighed, and nodded to the book Sam had been flipping through since leaving the garage. "Did you find anything in there?"

"Just lots of spells. Some I've seen before. There's everything in here from how to call a loved one from the grave to how to _make_ someone fall in love with you."

Dean grinned. "You better write that last one down,Geek Boy."

"Bite me." Sam shut the book, and wiped the back of his hand over his brow. He was burning up, and it wasn't even hot out yet. He cleared his throat. "There's nothing in here that seems as if it could be connected to what's going on."

"Maybe the book isn't what's important."

Sam frowned. "You mean the name?"

Dean shrugged. " Maybe this Marguerrite chick is the witch we're looking for. Why don't you run it by Sally when you go see her about Reese Mathers."

"It couldn't hurt." Sam stood and found him self grabbing for the railing as his legs nearly gave way. "Whoa," he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as images suddenly flashed through his mind.

_A man and a woman were standing in a room lit by a roaring fire and candles. _

_The woman's back was to Sam, but he could see the old man. _

_His face was sad-like, almost resigned. _

_Then a glint of silver in the firelight. _

_The man gasped and fell to his knees, blood blossoming crimson on the front of his shirt. _

_His unfamiliar face-contorted in pain. He looked down at his blood-covered hands and then slowly lifted his eyes to meet Sam's. _

_This time the eyes were well known-the face etched into Sam's heart. No!_

"Dean!" Sam gasped and brought his hands to his pounding head. The porch swirled back into focus, and his brother's concerned face swam into view.

"Sammy! His brother was in front of him, hands grasping his shoulders to keep him on his feet. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam finally managed to choke out. He shook his head, straightened himself and stepped away from his brother, needing to distance himself from Dean and the vision he'd just had. "I just got a little dizzy. That's all."

"Right." Dean didn't look at all convinced. He knew his brother better than anyone. It took a lot to scare Sam, but Dean had heard fear in his voice. "You've been doing that a lot lately." This was much more than a cold or a virus.

The younger hunter shrugged, raking his slightly shaking hands through his hair. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

Sam forced a smile, despite the feeling of dread and panick that was building. "Are you going to waste time arguing or are you going to the Kinkades?" The sooner they finished this hunt, the better.

"We're going to have to talk about this, Sam."

"I thought you were all for repressing emotional baggage? What happened to my 'no chick flick moments' brother?"

When the other hunter only continued to stare at him, Sam sighed. "Look, I'll meet you back at the Sheriff's when you're done at the Kinkades. We'll talk about it then."

Dean stepped off the porch, his appraising gaze still not wavering from Sam. He knew damn well his brother didn't plan on talking about whatever the hell was going on with him-besides the obvious. Sometimes he wished for Sam to be the same open book he was when he was six. Dean could get him to tell him anything then. _Damn Winchester stubbornness. _"Do you need me to drop you at the library?"

The younger man shook his head. "It's just down the street. I think I can manage."

Okay- Dean could play their usual game. "Yeah, well, don't make me come looking for your ass, Sammy. I know what libraries and little old ladies in support panties do for you-but try to stayed focused."

Sam shook his head at his brother's poor attempt at normalcy. "I'll try my best."

Mrs. Carolyn Kinkade pushed a blond curl behind her ear and forced a weary smile. She was probably close to Dean's age he guessed, but the weeks of grief had taken their toll, making her appear much older than her years. "I'll try to remember, but I don't really understand how recounting my husband's last days would help you. Both the police and the CDC found no connection to the other victims."

Dean nodded. "I know, but sometimes it takes a fresh perspective, mam."

The woman sighed and wrung her hands nervously. "Please- call me Carolyn. _Mam _seems like my mother." She glanced out the sliding glass door to where a toe-headed boy no older than fourwas swinging on an old tire swing and took a shuddering breath. "It's not very exciting. My husband was the local weatherman at the news station in Bowie. In the days before he died, he went to work, came home, and did some work in his garage. That's about it."

Dean followed her gaze to the yard that was literally bursting with hundreds of different sculptured weathervanes. "I take it those were a hobby."

She smiled and some of her veiled prettiness slipped through. "Yes, he sold them at the local flea market, mostly to tourists. Honestly, he was just obsessed with the wind, and weather in general."

"When did you know your husband was sick?"

"He just started feeling bad out of the blue. We thought he had caught the flu-you know."

"What kind of symptoms did he have?"

"He was throwing up, dizzy, running a slight fever in the beginning- the first day or so. By the third day he was so sick we had to take him to the hospital."

So whatever it was seemed to take three days to run its course. "Mrs. Kaplan mentioned that you met the young woman," Dean looked at his notes, "Carly Reins', fiancé before he left town."

"I did. Did you know she was only twenty-two?" Carolyn shook her head. "Taylor was devastated. He was taking her to Vegas from here-to get married. But the only place he got to take her was to California where her family lived-to be buried."

"Did she have all the same sort of symptoms as your husband?"

"Yes."

"The CDC came and did an investigation, but even they've all but pulled out. And now there's the other man," Carolyn wiped at her eyes, "I just don't understand why this is happening. "

"I'm sorry- did you say there was another man?"

The blond nodded. "I ran into one of Marcus' nurses at the market this morning. She said that Cal Davis was brought in last night."

"Do you know this Davis guy?"

"Not really. I know that his grandmother is in the nursing home where I volunteer sometimes. She is a really sweet old lady. Cal was her only family-a fisherman from Seattle-I think. She's all alone now-well except for Reese"

"Reese?" Dean was sure he wouldn't get that lucky, but stranger things had happened and Reese wasn't a common name. It was possible Carolyn was talking about Rose's father. "You wouldn't happen to mean Reese Mathers, would you?"

Carolyn looked surprised. "Yeah. He lives at the nursing home too. Do you know him?"

"Not really. I've just heard of him. He was a reporter back in the day."

"I'd almost forgotten that," the blond smiled. "He likes to tell such outlandish stories-sometimes I forget that there may be a grain of truth to them."

"What kinds of stories?"

"The fantastic kind, you know. He talks about government cover-ups, aliens, Big Foot-he's not exactly in our reality most of the time. Reese is quite the character. They say he went crazy after his wife died-claiming that what caused her death was a vengeful spirit."

Dean couldn't help but to think of his own father-his own life. "Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction."

Carolyn looked at the hunter with something akin to regret. "Reese called me after Marcus died. He was spouting all these theories-I'm afraid I wasn't very nice to him."

She sighed. "I guess he just wanted to give me something to blame. Maybe that's what he's wanted all these years." The woman looked at Dean. "I can understand that now."

Her eyes filled with tears again, and the hunter felt an urgent need to be outside in the fresh air. As corny as it sounded, he could never stand to see a woman cry. "I'm sorry." Dean stood, wishing Sam were there to offer the comfort that his brother seemed so easily able to give to anyone in pain. "I should let you get back to what you were doing."

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Carolyn told the hunter as she led him back through the hallway to the front door. "For all our sakes."

"Me too," Dean nodded, and shook the woman's hand. He started to step off the porch but stopped and turned to look at her again. "I almost forgot…"

"Yes?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a recent picture of your husband do you? I mean for our story." _Please say no. _

A sad smile tugged at the corner of the woman's mouth. "I do. Hold on."

The few moments that it took for Carolyn to come back seemed to creep by as Dean hoped the little voice in his head was way off the mark.

Carolyn returned and handed Dean a silver frame. "He and Daniel had it made just before Marcus got sick."

Dean had to force down the lump that had sprung to his throat as the smiling face of Marcus Kinkade greeted him from beneath the rim of a black Stetson hat. The little boy he'd seen earlier in the back yard was grinning, sitting astride his father's lap, feathers in his hair and sporting streaks of war paint on his young face.

Green eyes lifted and met watery blue ones. "You had this made at the shop in town." It wasn't a question, because Dean already knew the answer.

Carolyn nodded, one hand barely resting on her lips, the other resting across her heart.

"The nice old man did it for free." She nearly choked on the soft sob that escaped. "He said every boy needed a picture of their father-just in case…"

"I'm sorry," Dean cut her off. He was sorry.

He was sorry for the pain he saw on Carolyn's face. Sorry that the little boy would grow up without a father, and that Mrs. Kaplan had lost her husband when she and the reverend should have been able to grow old together. The hunter was sorry that a twenty-two year old girl was rotting in a grave somewhere, instead of marrying her grieving fiancé. But Dean was especially sorry that he'd never questioned his father's orders and that he'd brought his brother to New Hope.

He handed the picture back to Carolyn. "I've got to go."

Dean was off the porch and headed for the Impala before the young woman could gather her thoughts. "But the picture…I thought you needed it for your story," she called after him.

The hunter kept going, ignoring the woman, as he reached the Impala and climbed into the false perimeter of safety that it offered. The only thing that he needed at that moment was to find Sam. Dean needed his brother.


	7. Chapter 7

Negative Effect

Chapter 7

By: Ridley and Will

Rating: T

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

Author's notes: This chapter is owed all to one well-timed day of Hooky. All bow to the Hooky gods-that allow us to take a mental health day when needed. Ridley is not encouraging the act of Hooky in no way, shape, or form, and can not be sued for wages lost, or slipping grades. That said-Hooky is freakin' awesome.

Dean could not explain the wave of relief that crashed over him as he turned the corner at near break neck speed only to catch a glimpse of his brother standing exactly where he said he would be. _Thank you. _

Sam was leaned up against the Sheriff's office, under the awning, looking tired but very much alive. Dean didn't miss the fact that his brother made moving look like an extreme effort as he pushed away from the building and walked to meet the car once it had stopped with a grinding of tires and a cloud of dust.

Dean nearly leaped from the Impala. "Where the hell have you been?"

Sam frowned, as his brother practically climbed over the car between them to get in his personal space. He almost expected him to slide across the hood in Duke fashion. "Right where I said I was going to be. What's wrong?"

"You didn't answer your cell. It's turned off. We never turn the phones off, Sam."

Sam shook his head, half irritated, half concerned at the wild look in his brother's green gaze. "I was in the library, Dean. I must have forgotten to turn it back on. What is your problem, man?"

"My problem is that you never listen."

Sam's brow furrowed. Okay, a Dean tirade was usually brought on by one of two things. Since the car was still in one piece, that must have meant he was worried. Something had him spooked. "What happened at the Kinkade's?"

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Her husband died-that's what happened."

"We already knew that, Dean."

"It happened in three days-just like the others." _You've been sick for two, Sammy. _

"So, we know that whatever it is runs its course in three days?" That explains it. _I've been sick for two. _

"Damn it, Sam! That fucking photographer took Kinkade's picture, too."

"Yeah," Sam looked at his brother, "and that makes you angry-why?"

"Don't you get it?" Dean felt like shaking him. "He's the Soul Collector-the Crow."

"Okay, Random," Sam borrowed one of his brother's terms of endearment, "where the hell did that theory come from?"

"It's been eating at me ever since I saw that picture at the preacher's house. Through out history there have been myths about cameras being able to capture a person's soul-kind of like the whole mirror thing."

Sam nodded. "A lot of cultures believed that having one's picture taken was like a small death-a part of their essence was captured for eternity. But Dean…"

"I think Monroe found a way to use that. Every victim that we know of had their photograph taken by Death Warmed Over." _Including us. _" I say we find the freak and toast him."

The younger hunter looked incredulously at his brother. "Dean, we don't know where to start looking for him. Even if we did, we couldn't just kill him. We don't even know _what _he is."

When he recognized the stubborn flare in the hazel gaze , Sam raised his hand to cut off the protest that he saw building. "Let's say that you're right. Why the three days? Why capture five souls? What's the pentagram have to do with it and the whole element thing, Dean? Where does Dellacrois fit in? And our phantom Indian friend?"

Dean rolled his eyes, irritated with his brother's damn sensible logic. " I don't know. I'm not the psychic. What 's the force telling _you_, young Jedi?"

Right now it was telling him that his brother was an ass. "What it's telling me is that we're missing something." Sam held up the journal and some papers that he'd found at the library. "Something that might be in here."

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to soothe his frayed nerves. "Are you okay?"

Sam nearly laughed. "You could have just asked me that in the beginning, you know, jerk."

Dean averted his gaze, as he felt a slight warmth creep into his cheeks. So sometimes concerned, worried Dean looked a whole hell of a lot like pissed off Dean. "Just answer the question, bitch."

"I've been better."

The honest statement brought Dean's gaze instantly to his brother's flushed face. He had to resist the urge to reach up and check his forehead for fever. "Could be the flu." Dean knew it sounded lame, but he just wanted it to be true so freakin' badly.

"Yeah," Sam forced a grin, "I hear something's going around."

"Really, Sammy-are you okay?"

Sam cleared his throat and pushed aside the sudden urge to tell his brother just how shitty he felt. He wasn't five for crying out loud. "I'm good."

Dean shook his head, not buying it for a minute, but not about to waste more time banging his head against a brick Winchester wall. "Then let's go see the sheriff."

"He's out on patrol. I already checked."

Dean glanced around the small town, wondering what in the hell the man patrolled. "It's only a little after twelve," he nodded to the car. "Get in, we're taking a little trip."

Sam opened the passenger door. "Where to?"

"The hospital."

"Why?" Sam actually backed away. "I told you that I was alright."

"Yeah, well we've got to talk about that lying habit, little brother. But we're not going there for you."

Sam finally got in the car and Dean followed suit. He looked at his brother, waiting for an explanation. "There's a fourth victim, and he's still alive."

"Really?"

"Apparently a fisherman has come down with the _flu_." Dean started the car and did a U-turn in the small parking lot.

"Water." Sam's face paled. "The old man said that the Crow would soon have water."

The younger Winchester could see it on his brother's face, but knew he'd never say it, so he did. "That leaves Fire."

Dean glanced to the road they were turning onto, taking them out of New Hope and towards Bowie. "I know most lawyers probably go to Hell, Sammy-but that doesn't mean that you'd qualify in the flame category. You haven't even taken the Bar yet."

Sam continued to stare at him, frustrated that his brother wasn't willing to admit that Sam most definitely had a connection to the element that had stole so much of their lives. "Are you trying to make me feel better?"

"Not working?"

"Not really."

Dean forced a smile. "Then let's talk about your newest chick of the week. What did you find out from the hot librarian?"

Sam sighed, thinking back on his conversation with the old woman. "Well, Sally knew Mathers and his wife. Olivia Mathers was definitely one of the victims back in 1955, and get this she was an avid swimmer-had even gone to the Olympics when she was younger."

"If your theory is on the money-then she would be the water element in that particular killing spree. I guess that she swam in the lake a lot?"

Sam nodded. "That's one of the ways they blamed it on the toxic leak into Canyon Lake."

"So, Carolyn Kinkade mentioned to me that this Mathers was in the nursing home."

Sam looked a little surprised but nodded. "That's what Sally said. He ended up there after he spent most of his adult life in and out of mental institutions . Late on-set Schizophrenia-or something."

"What a pleasant ending to his Norman Rockwell story."

"Sally was all too happy to dish out all the old dirt. She said it was the talk of the town. Mathers became obsessed with the idea of the curse having killed his wife. Get this-he claimed his wife's soul had been stolen by a devil."

"That's a good way to end up where he did."

"Rose said that he started researching all things paranormal. Bought tons of salt and circled his house with it. Made his little girl wear garlic and carry blessed water with her."

Dean glanced at his brother. "That would explain Rose's reluctance to talk much about the supernatural shit." Dean could understand the waitress' caution. He and Sam learned quickly not to discuss their father's obsession.

"Finally, Olivia's family got involved and social services took Rose. They had Reese declared incompetent and had him committed." Sam glanced at his brother, a pensive look crossing his young features. "Do you sometimes wonder how Dad avoided that whole scene?"

Dean shot him a hard look, and his voice took on an edge. "Dad wasn't crazy, Sam."

"Apparently, neither was Mathers."

The older hunter sighed, not wanting to think of the possibilities of how different their lives could have turned out. "Did she recognize the name Monroe, or Dellacrois?"

"No, but we did a search of the town's historical records and found this in the archive." Sam held up a piece of paper. "It's an account of a murder from the town's first newspaper."

"A murder?"

Sam nodded. "It happened back in the early 1900's -one Jebidiah Monroe was found stabbed in the local apothecary's shop. Apparently, they never did find the murderer."

"That's about the same time that the first cycle of killings started. Not a coincidence I'm guessing."

"Probably not-considering the apothecary shop was owned by Marguerrite Dellacrois and she was never seen or heard from again. The local law enforcement figured she was either killed also or kidnapped."

"So- are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Apothecaries often used magic and other natural remedies."

"Dellacrois was a witch?"

Sam shrugged. " Makes sense, and we know Monroe owned the homestead. I'm betting he was the same little kid that watched his family be murdered by Geronimo. Maybe he never gave up on the idea of getting revenge."

"Back to Geronimo." Dean knew it was coming but rolled his eyes anyway. "But Geronimo would have been an old man by then. And we know he was moved to a reservation in Florida, and he died there."

"But maybe Monroe couldn't let it go." Sam could understand that. He'd lived it.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Dellacrois and Monroe made themselves a deal. He wanted revenge for his family being killed."

"You think she cast a spell?"

"That would have to have been one hell of a spell. Nothing like we've ever seen."

The more they learned-the more tangled the whole web seemed. "It still doesn't explain the soul collector thing and the pictures."

"I think that's where Dad's journal will come in. Whatever is written in there may be what we need to connect all this." Dean looked at his brother. "This Wakeen friend of the sheriff's will translate it for us-one way or another."

Sam felt a chill course through him and pulled his jacket tighter. "I just wish Dad were here."

Dean sighed, seeing the exit sign for Bowie. "Me too, Sammy. Me too."

The Mercy hospital was relatively small and quiet, considering it was the middle of the day.

Sam carefully pulled himself from the car, trying not to give into the sudden wave of nausea that had settled over him on the short drive. "And exactly how are we going to get in to see this Calvin Davis?" He hunkered in his jacket and shivered as the wind kicked up dirt around the two brothers.

"We're his nephews," Dean replied easily with a crooked smile and Sam sighed. Sometimes lying came all too naturally to his brother.

"What if he's in a quarantined section?"

"I doubt it since the CDC pulled most of their people out. From what Kinkade's wife said only one agent stayed behind after their investigation failed to uncover anything linking the deaths to a specific toxin or viral strand."

Sam shivered again and nodded. "You think the guy will be able to talk to us?"

"Only one way to find out." Dean opened the door and walked into the small ER. Sam followed and hung back a little as his brother approached the front desk.

"Excuse me."

The young brunette looked up from her computer screen and an instant smile spread across her face. "Yes, may I help you?"

"Yeah," Dean read the nametag prominently displayed on the nurse's Scooby Doo scrubs,

"Misty, I'm Dean Davis and I understand that my uncle Cal was admitted here yesterday?"

Nurse Misty smiled at Dean again before tapping a few keys on her keyboard. "Is that Calvin Davis?"

Dean nodded gravely. "My brother and I just heard and we drove all through the night to get here from New Mexico. We didn't want him to go through this alone." The older hunter threw a smug glance over his shoulder at Sam, who rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatic performance.

"Oh dear," Misty glanced up from her screen and a look of complete sympathy crossed her face. "Maybe you should talk with Dr. Hayes."

"Is something wrong?" Sam stepped around his brother and leaned on the counter.

The nurse stood quickly, nearly knocking over her cappuccino that was resting on a stack of files. "You should really speak with Dr. Hayes. I'll page him."

Before Dean or Sam could reply Misty had scurried across from her small cubicle to a phone on the wall. She picked up and they could see her whispering animatedly to the person on the other end.

Sam nudged his brother's arm. "What do you think is going on?"

"I'm guessing that Uncle Cal isn't doing very well."

Misty hung up the phone and hurried back to them. "Dr. Hayes will see you now. He's up on the third floor, in the ICU ward."

"Thanks." Dean headed for stairwell, skipping the elevators, which several people were waiting on.

"You think he's dead?" Sam was panting before they made it to the third floor fire door.

Dean shot him a concerned look. "Probably. You okay? You're sweating all over the place."

Sam ran the back of his arm across his forehead. How could he be sweating when he was freezing only moments before? "Must be out of shape."

"Right." Again, with the lying. Sam could out run him any day of the week, which pissed Dean off to high heavens considering he was the one who worked out any give chance he got. "Too many cheeseburgers."

"Yeah," the young Winchester replied, opening the fire door to for his brother, "that must be it."

The hospital wing smelled of antiseptic and something citrus-probably used to cover up the smell of sickness that always seemed to permeate such a facility. Another wave of nausea coursed through Sam as he recalled too many visits to places just like this one when he or Dean or his dad had been hurt while on a hunt.

"I bet that's him."

Sam pushed away the unwanted slide down memory lane and followed his brother over to a tall stern-looking man with glasses. He wore the typical white coat and stethoscope around his neck, but his tie was bright blue and was decorated with the Tasmanian Devil and Road Runner.

"You two must be Mr. Davis' nephews?" He extended his hand first to Dean and then to Sam. "I'm Todd Hayes."

"Doctor," Dean shook the man's hand and then looked at Sam. "I'm Dean and this is my brother, Sam."

"Let's talk in here, shall we?" Dr. Hayes motioned to a small room that served as a waiting room for the ICU patients' families. "No one should be here at the moment. Your uncle was the only patient on this part of the floor."

"Was?" Dean didn't miss the use of the past tense.

Dr. Hayes sighed, holding his clipboard close to his chest. "I'm afraid so." The doctor nodded for the boys to take a seat in the uncomfortable orange chairs. "He passed on just a few hours ago. I've already sent someone out to notify your Great Grandmother."

"We were headed to the nursing home after we checked in on Uncle Cal."

"I'm sorry your visit came about this way."

"Yeah," Dean raked a hand through his hair, "so are we."

"I wasn't aware of Mr. Davis having any other family but his Grandmother."

"Our dad has been out of the picture for a while," Sam shrugged. "You know how brother's are." Maybe lying was genetic.

"I do." Dr. Hayes seemed to really notice Sam for the first time. "Are you feeling alright, young man? You don't look so well."

"Can you tell us how all this happened?" Dean asked, trying to shift Hayes' attention back to him.

"Oh, yes," the doctor opened his chart, "I pulled your uncle's file when Misty called. I don't know if you are aware or not, but we have had several cases of this type of illness in the last couple of months. Unfortunately, there is no detectable cause for the sickness."

The doctor scratched his beard and then looked up at Dean once more. "Even the fancy labs in Phoenix have been clueless. It starts out like the flu. The person may feel tired and achy, they may have headaches, muscle or stomach cramps, or run a fever. Your uncle was already pretty sick when he checked in with us. He was only conscious for a few hours."

"But what exactly killed him?"

"Basically, his fever got out of control, he was severely dehydrated and his kidneys shut down."

"And there was nothing that you could have done?" Dean couldn't help the knot of worry that was slowly tightening in his gut.

"We treated the symptoms, but we could never detect a bacteria or viral strain in the victims. You can't fight what you can't see."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, that's a real bitch."

"You might want to speak to Agent Hill from the CDC." The doctor stood. "He's been talking to all the families. He's down in the morgue with our pathologist."

"No, that's okay." The older Winchester quickly stood up and shook his head. The last thing they needed was to be interrogated by the government. "I think we just need some time to process what's happened."

"Of course," the doctor nodded in understanding. "It's never easy losing family."

"Yeah." Dean turned and nudged Sam's foot with his boot. "Let's go, Sam."

Sam started to stand up but his muscles momentarily refused to cooperate. He felt removed from the room, like he was caught in some strange type of limbo.

"Yo, Sammy? Are you coming? We need to check on Grams." Dean had stopped at the door, puzzled that his brother was still sitting in the chair staring at the floor. He was taking the mourning nephew bit a little far.

Finally Dean's voice penetrated the fog and Sam convinced his legs to work. He stood, but he felt himself sway as soon as he was upright. Dr. Hayes' hand shot out to steady him. "Are you sure you're alright, son?"

Before he could reply, the doctor had reached up and laid a hand across his forehead. "You're burning up." He looked accusingly at Dean who had quickly made it back across the room. "How long has he been like this?"

"He had a fever last night."

Sam glared at his brother and stepped back away from the doctor. "I'm okay. I just have a cold or something."

"Or something." The doctor took Sam's wrist without asking permission and checked his pulse. "Your heart is racing."

The youngest Winchester pulled away, shooting his brother another accusatory glance. "We really need to be going."

"Have you had nausea or fatigue? What about muscle or stomach discomfort?" The doctor wasn't going to be dissuaded.

Sam sighed. "Some."

Now Dean looked angry. "Tell him the truth, Sam."

"I started feeling bad last night. I have a headache and I've been sick." The youngest Winchester shrugged. "There's been some chills and some stomach pain."

The doctor nodded. "I'd like to run some tests." He smiled and both boys could tell it was forced. "It could be nothing, but I'd like to be sure."

Sam shook his head. "No- we don't have time for that."

"Let him do his tests, Sammy."

"What?" Sam hissed, shocked and a little stung that his brother was agreeing with the man. "We have important things to take care of. This is a waste of time."

"It doesn't take both of us to go the nursing home. I'll come back afterwards and pick you up."

The younger hunter stepped away from the doctor, guiding his brother away from the man. "Don't leave me here. I'm…"

"Don't say you're fine, because we both know you're not." Dean looked towards the door, and then back at his brother. "Just let him run his tests. Then we'll know for sure."

"We already know, Dean," Sam growled, frustrated that his brother still wouldn't admit what they'd danced around all day. "I have it-I'm the last element. I've been sick for two days. You heard the man. They couldn't do anything for any of the victims. It will be the same for me."

"Please."

Sam hated the look on his brothers face just then-a mixture of fear and helplessness. Dean was the bravest person he had ever known-he always knew what to do. But there it was-lurking in the hazel gaze. And Sam couldn't ignore it.

He hadn't seen it often-rarely ever. But it was enough to stop his protest-it was enough to cause him to give in. Sam would do anything to glaze over the chink in the armor.

Dean must have sensed his victory. "I promise that I'll come back and get you before I meet with the sheriff. Just let him run his tests." He took a deep breath and met Sam's gaze. "Maybe it's not what we think."

Sam sighed. "Alright."

Dean grinned and slapped his brother on the shoulder. "That's my boy. I'll be back within the hour."

"You better be."

"Trust me, Sam. I won't leave you for long."

Sam watched him go-those words echoing in his head. He thought of the visions he'd had and suddenly he wished he'd told his brother about them. What if he should have warned him?

A sudden panic overtook him as that mocking voice in his mind taunted him. _Just like, Jessica. You've done it again. You've failed him._

He took a step towards the door, but the doctor's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Let's get you down to the lab, son. This won't take long."

Sam glanced at the man and nodded. The hunter swallowed down the lump that had sprung to his throat. It didn't take long for a person's world to fall apart either. It could happen in a heartbeat.

It didn't take Dean long to get to the nursing home. The New Hope Home of Rest wasn't actually in the town, more on the outskirts, just off the Interstate. It sat on sprawling acres of golden earth, and was landscaped to look more like a typical home than a hospital setting. Even the building itself appeared more ranch-like than clinical.

He stepped through the double wooden doors, going over his cover story in his mind. Dean Davis was now Dean Winters-a patient counselor from the hospital._ Thanks for that one, Marilyn. _

Surely he could pull it off. He had to. They were running out of time. Sam was running out of time. His brother was weakening. Dean had tried to ignore it, but he'd felt his little brother slipping away from him. And that was something Dean couldn't -wouldn't-accept.

"Can I help you?" The voice startled Dean out of his thoughts and he realized that his legs had carried him seemingly of their own accord straight to a counter where two women in scrubs sat. Two very attractive women-whom were definitely going to be added to his list of things not to hate about New Hope.

"Yes, I'm Dean Winters from Mercy Hospital in Bowie. I was sent here to talk with Ellie Davis."

The two women exchanged curious looks. "The pastor already came by and spoke with Ellie this morning."

"I know, but I'm the patient counselor, I just wanted to make my services available to Ellie-to see if there was anything I could help with."

"You're a therapist?" The blond one asked, with a disbelieving half-grin on her face.

"I am." Dean leaned against the counter and smiled back.

"Do you have a couch and everything?" she teased, playfully.

Dean started to reply but the nurse with the red hair frowned suddenly and cut him off. "Funny, but I didn't know that Mercy had atherapist on staff. I did my residency there."

Great. One of them had to have brains. "I've not been there very long."

"You know," the blond looked at her coworker. "I heard from my friend that works at the Jalapeño that there were two really good-looking reporters in town researching all these freaky deaths. I bet they would love to talk with Ellie, too."

Okay, so maybe they both had IQ's above their bra sizes.

"Really?" Red raised a brow at Dean. "But _he's_ not really that good-looking."

Dean looked from one woman to the other, feeling offended and somewhat like a toy being tossed between toddlers.

"Yeah," Blondie finally agreed. "She said these two were extremely hot."

"I really hate to interrupt this little discussion, but could I just talk with Ellie Davis. I promise not to bother her-okay. It's really important."

They shared another look, that led Dean to believe that life was a little too dull around the old New Hope Home of Rest and they were enjoying yanking his chain.

"Okay, _Doctor_," Blondie pointed towards a glass door to the right. "But we'll be watching you."

Red smiled. "Ellie is out in the gardens, but don't give her that crap about Bowie because she'll eat you alive."

"Use the smile, instead," the blonde added. "It's distracting, and might throw her off."

Dean shook his head, feeling more than a little off his game. Thank God Sam wasn't here to see it. "Thanks, I'll remember that."

He could still hear them giggling as he left the building and started down the stone path that led to a shaded area in the distance. Dean was definitely worried that he was losing his touch.

Luckily there wasn't more time to dwell on it because he had had just passed through a vine-covered wooden archway when he caught site of a fragile white-haired woman sitting on a stone bench. And she wasn't alone. Maybe his luck was changing.

The hunter took his time approaching. He could tell that the woman was upset, and he didn't look forward to yet another encounter with a grieving victim. The cloying smell of flowers was almost overwhelming-reminding Dean of a funeral home. It was the one scent he hated-it reminded him of his own mother's funeral. The only thing he could really remember about it. Funny that something he knew Mary loved-flowers-only brought feelings of sadness and anger for her son.

His feet crunched on the colorful man-made pebbles surrounding the stone seat and both Ellie and her friend looked up at him.

"Who are you?" the man asked rather harshly, giving Dean the once over.

"I'm Dean Winchester," he said as if that explained everything, then added, "and you're Reese Mathers."

Reese straightened some, but kept his arm protectively around Ellie. Dean imagined that he'd be a tall man if he stood. His hair was salt and peppered, and still thick and present. Hesitant blue eyes peered at him from under thick eyebrows. "I am." He looked more like an absent-mined professor than a seasoned reporter with his checkered twill pants and tan, wool sweater. But there was a hungry gleam in his eyes that Dean almost found familiar.

Dean turned his gaze to Ellie. She was a slight woman, probably in her eighties, and looked very much like the grandmotherly type in her crocheted shawl, and faded blue and yellow print dress. "I'm sorry about your grandson, Mrs. Davis."

"You knew my Cal?" Ellie clutched an embroidered handkerchief in her spotted, wrinkled hands. Her cloudy green eyes were red and swollen from crying. "Are you a fisherman?"

"He's no fisherman." Reese eyed the boy. "Too clean cut. Too green. Too soft."

Dean sighed. What was it today. "I'm a hunter." Okay, why not try something new.

Reese laughed. "And what exactly do you hunt, boy, besides the fairer sex?"

"I huntEvil."That took the smile off the old man's face. "Demons, monsters, werewolves, shape shifters, poltergeists, dead Indian Chiefsandtheir pet wolves-anything that frightens and hurts the innocent. You name it, my family has probably hunted it. But here lately, I've beenon the trail of a Soul Collector. "

Reese shook his head-afraid his damn hearing aide was cutting in and out again. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." Dean didn't know if he could bring himself to repeat it. He wasn't sure if he'd ever said it all aloud to anyone but Sam-and one other that he'd rather forget. " I think you and I may have something in common."

Reese glanced nervously at Ellie and then back to Dean. "Is this some kind of joke, son?"

"I never joke about this."

"What's he talking about, Reese?" Ellie looked from Dean to the man beside her.

"I'm talking about your grandson and why he died."

"He died from a sickness. The one's that been going around town."

Dean and Reese shared a look. "Ellie, why don't you go on back in and lie down for a while. I'll sit and chat with this young man."

The old woman looked unsure, but then nodded and allowed Reese to help her up. "I could use some rest."

"Mrs. Davis, could I ask you one quick question?"

The woman sighed wearily. "Of course."

"Did your grandson have his picture taken in town? At the Ol'Timey Photo Shop?"

Ellie smiled. "He did. We went into New Hope to have dinner the first night he was here. Cal thought it'd be a hoot for me to dress up like one of them Saloon girls." Her eyes filled. "I tried to tell him I was too old for such nonsense, but he said I was still the prettiest girl in town. Mr. Monroe convinced me-saying us old folk had to take advantage of such moments." She looked at Dean. "I'm so glad I did now. At least I have that memory."

"Go on inside now, Ellie," Reese patted her arm, "I'll be along soon."

Dean watched the woman make her way down the path. The red head was waiting for her at the door. She waved to Dean and Reese and helped Ellie inside.

"Let's walk," Reese didn't wait for a reply from Dean before setting off down the narrow path.

Other patients were at picnic tables and resting on other benches along the way, but they were away from the path and seemed uninterested in the two men strolling by. "You read my article, didn't you?"

"I did."

Reese glanced at the young man. "And you expect me to believe that you hunt creatures of the night?"

"You believed your wife's soul was taken by a Devil."

Reese sighed. "You young pups are smart mouthed these days." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry but I don't have time to dance around the subject. Carolyn Kinkade told me that you called her after her husband died. You think the same thing that happened to your wife is happening again."

Reese nodded. "Four people have died already. The fifth one won't be far behind them." He looked at Dean. "It may be too late already."

"I can't accept that."

Reese stopped, and raised one bushy silver brow. "Why's that?"

"The last victim…," Dean swallowed hard, trying to force the undeniable truth past his forbidding lips."The last victim is my brother, Sam."

Chapter 8-Coming Soon


	8. Chapter 8

Negative Effect

Chapter 8

By: Ridley and Will

A/N: Honestly, this chapter was not suppose to be so long. The end is in sight-I promise. Thanks for all the reviews-the typing is so much easier with that little carrot dangling in front of me.

"So- what element?" Reese was digging in a large oak trunk, the upper half of his body practically swallowed by it.

Dean didn't acknowledge the question. He was still staring at the walls of the old man's room. It was like walking into a space that had been inhabited by his own father- on a long term basis. Damn unnerving-is what it was.

Newspaper clippings of unexplained deaths and drawings of bizarre creatures covered every inch of the place. The post-it notes were even there too-hand-written, unorganized thoughts scrawled on them.

Dean could understand where the diagnosis of Schizophrenia had come from. Funny he'd never really considered that his own father could have been declared a walking poster child for the mentally ill if things had worked out differently. _Where would that have left me and Sam?_

Paintings of demonic things hung on one side of the room and another canvas sat on an easel-half finished. They were disturbing, but striking in detail and some of them Dean even recognized as accurate renditions. Any of them could have made an awesome album cover.

"Young Winchester?" Reese snapped his fingers in front of Dean and the kid finally looked at him. "I asked you what element your brother is? I know Reverend Kaplan was Spirit and that crazy Kinkade with his wacky weathervanes was Air…so,"

Dean swallowed hard. "Fire."

"Is he a fireman?"

"No."

"He's not one those pyromaniacs-is he. I met a couple of those in the institution." Reese looked at Dean over the rim of his bifocals. "Young people seem to like to burn things these days."

Dean sighed. How in the hell could he explain why Sam was connected to fire when he didn't understand it himself. "My brother was involved in two deaths-that were…unexplainable. Our mother and his girlfriend. They both died in horrible fires and Sam was there."

"But he survived-unscathed both times?"

"I got him out."

Reese didn't miss the fierce look in the young man's green gaze. This one would put up a fight. "So, the Fire knows him. They are…familiars."

"I don't know." _I sure the hell hope not_. " I just know that fire or something _in_ the fire has tried to destroy my family twice."

Reese furrowed his brow-and then snapped his fingers again. "I _knew_ I recognized the name." He stood as quickly as any seventy year old that Dean had seen and went to a far corner where he stared for a moment. "It was a fire back in the 80's-when your mother died? Right?"

"Yeah," Dean answered warily as he also stood -going to where the man was now standing.

"I figured that was a damn demon." Reese distractedly twirled one end of his mustache and jabbed another finger at a yellowing clipping. "Nasty bastards." He pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "There's been similar ones since then-you know."

Dean did know-his dad had investigated most of them. And then there was Jessica. But how the hell did Mathers know?

He was amazed to find himself looking at a copy of the same aged article that he'd read in his father's journal countless times. How could this old man have spotted something so obscure? So-seemingly normal? He must have researched every AP posting in nearly every paper. "You've been busy."

Reese chuckled, but it was filled more with mirth than humor. "The news is in my blood, boy. Besides-had me lots of time on my hands where I've been." He gestured to his life's work taped on the walls. "Kept me from losing my fucking marbles while I was locked up in the loony bin."

"Yeah, I heard about that." What did you say to someone who had lived their own personal version of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_?. "Sorry."

Reese shrugged and waved the sentiment away as if his ordeal had been nothing. "It wasn't that bad. I've learned a lot." He smiled and motioned Dean to his computer desk. "Even made me a nice little nest egg."

Reese picked up a hard-cover book with a picture of a vampire on it. Dean had seen it before. It was by one of the authors that his dad liked. He could never understand how the man liked to read fictional stories about something he lived and breathed everyday.

"Do you consult with the guy?"

Reese laughed . "I _am _the guy." He stacked the book with countless other titles and then leaned closer to the young hunter and lowered his voice. "Remington Marley is me. Now that's just between us- you hear?"

Dean nodded, not sure if the old man was being straight with him, and not having the inclination or the time to talk about it any further. "Do you still have that research that you did on your wife's death?"

"Oh yes, yes- we were searching for that now weren't we." Reese made his way back over to the trunk and Dean pushed away all the strange thoughts swirling in his head. Sam would never believe this.

The old guy delved back into the trunk. "I never could figure out who was behind it. But I knew that the thing that killed my Livie and those others wasn't connected to some conjured up toxic leak-god damn government cover-ups."

"So you blamed the Devil?" Dean wasn't sure if the man _was _a little warped, or had one big set of brass ones.

Reese stopped what he was doing and shot Dean a puzzled look. "Well, he seemed the most likely candidate. Nothing stirs the blood like a good old fight against the Devil. This is a very religious town after all. And, I found it better than coming out and laying it all on some Indian spirit." Reese continued his search . "Then once this started happening again- I contacted anyone and everyone I thought would listen. I told them that the victims would be chosen by their connection to an elemental power."

"Let me guess-they thought you were crazy?" _Go figure_.

"Yep, thought I was off my meds."

"Reese-do you remember if your wife had her picture made anytime close to when she died?"

Reese stared at him for a moment. "You asked Ellie that question."

The hunter nodded. "I think it's important."

The old man thoughtfully stroked his short beard. "Now that you mention it, her and my daughter, Rosie-they had their photograph taken at the fair in town." He smiled and Dean could tell by the far off gaze in his eyes that he was seeing his family as they had once been. "They were all dolled up like motion picture stars. A man from out in California had a little booth set up." Reese shook his head-clearing the obviously bitter sweet memory from his mind. "I sent it with Rosie when they took her away."

"Did all the deaths take place near the time of the fair?" It was starting to come together. Dean had an idea he knew exactly who that man from California had been. _Monroe._

"They did. The last time, the deaths weren't spread out like they have been this go-around."

"What made you suspicious in the first place-back when your wife died?"

"Well I can tell you it wasn't Schizophrenia-that's for damn sure."

Reese mumbled something else unintelligible under his breath and pushed himself up from the floor to rest on the edge of his bed.

"For one thing, Olivia hadn't been near Canyon Lake since the dead of summer. She became ill in late September. And Frank Malone was a crop duster. The only water he came in contact with that I knew of was what he sprayed on crops."

"So, I started researching the town and its history, and that's when I found the mention of the deaths back in 1905. There were other reasons too…", the old man stopped leafing through the file he was holding and eyed Dean, "…the biggest being the visit old Geronimo paid me."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "You talked to Geronimo?"

Reese twisted his mustache pensively. "I'm not sure if it was actually Geronimo, but with the whole legend that surrounded the town-it made sense to me. It didn't much look like the pictures I'd seen-but it was an Indian and he warned me that there would be others to die and he was right. He also told me that he was trapped here on this plane by an enemy of great power and that it was his enemy that had taken my wife."

"Did you tell people that you had talked to Geronimo?"

Reese smirked. "Auditory and visual hallucinations are some of the first symptoms of my disorder. Hindsight is 20/20-you know."

Dean grinned. "Did you see a honkin' big white wolf too?"

The old man shook his head. "Wolves aren't indigenous to Arizona, young Winchester."

The hunter rolled his eyes, wondering if the man _was _somehow channeling the Winchester DNA. "Well did this spirit call his enemy the Crow? Did he refer to him as a Soul Collector?"

"He did," Reese nodded enthusiastically. "You've seen him too, my boy-haven't you?"

"Yeah. My brother and I both have."

Reese clasped a hand to his lips and took a shuddering breath. Suddenly his blue eyes filled. "I knew I wasn't hallucinating, but it is damn nice to hear someone else confirm it."

Dean glanced around the room again, feeling uncomfortable with yet another emotional display. He suddenly missed his brother more than he could explain. "Did he tell you anything else?"

The old man seemed to think for a moment. "Just that the Soul Collector would need two more elements-Earth and Fire, and if he got them, then no one could change his fate for many moons." Reese shook his head. "I didn't know enough about all this stuff then," he motioned around the room, "and I'd just lost my wife. I was consumed by grief, I guess. Maybe I did think I was going crazy. I'm not sure."

"But you wrote that article? You linked the deaths with the curse?"

"I did at that. After the last victim, a fireman from Bowie, died. I couldn't just sit by and see everything brushed away-as if those people and my Olivia meant nothing." Reese sighed. "I was grasping at straws really and it cost me dearly. I only wish I had known more or that someone would have paid more attention."

"Maybe you knew more than you realized at the time."

Reese sighed. "Maybe- but if I'd tried harder I might have found the thing that killed my Olivia and then maybe none of this would be happening again. Those people wouldn't have died. Ellie wouldn't have lost her Cal and your brother wouldn't be sick."

Dean wondered if John felt the same way about what had happened to Sam. Above all else, John Winchester loved his sons-even if he stunk at being a dad sometimes.

Either way, the hunter could understand the old man's guilt, but Reese was just as much of a victim as any of those that had died. "My father is the smartest, most skilled hunter of these things that I have ever known and he has searched over twenty years for the monster that killed my mother and has never found more than smoke and shadows."

Reese frowned. "Where is he now? Is he with your brother?"

"I don't know where he is. But, I know he's still hunting." _He'll never quit hunting._

Reese nodded, realizing what Dean was saying in his round-a-bout way. "At least he didn't get himself committed, young Winchester."

Dean shrugged. "He's not a bestselling author, or artist either."

Reese accepted that with a slight smile. "Well, since your Daddy's not around, maybe I can help you save your brother, and we can clip that old Crow's wings once and for all."

Dean shook his head. "I say we just blow him out of the fucking sky-send him back to hell where he belongs."

Reese laughed. "I like your style, pup." He handed Dean a file. "Now look through that while I grab my journal. It'll be able to fill the gaps in my swiss-cheesed memory. I know I wrote down ever account from those months in there."

Dean sighed. _A journal, too. _Sam was going to be so freakin' pissed that he missed this.

Sam was so freakin' pissed. It had been over an hour and Dean still wasn't back and Dr. Hayes was really starting to get on his nerves. Not only had he taken way more blood than Sam thought necessary, but he'd had him run through as many diagnostic machines as possible, which did little for his aching head. And the man still hadn't let go of the idea that the youngest Winchester should submit to treatment. At least he'd let Sam have his clothes back.

"Sam-it is imperative that we start a round of antibiotics to strengthen your immune system and an IV to replenish fluids that you have lost." The doctor motioned to the bed. "At least take a moment to rest. You have a temperature and it's obvious you're in a fair amount of pain."

"I didn't think doctors like to give out antibiotics these days?"

Dr. Hayes hugged his ever present clipboard and frowned at the young man. "This is an unusual circumstance. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Sam shook his head and instantly regretted it. He winced. "Look-I appreciate your concern, but my brother will be here any time now." _He can take care of me. _Sam continued to pace beside of the bed in the small room that they had brought him to. "We'll be leaving as soon as he gets here."

"That may not be possible."

Sam turned towards the door as a large man in a dark suit entered the room with two male nurses. He looked at Hayes. "What's going on?"

The look the physician shot Sam was unnervingly full of guilt. "Son- I told you that the tests were inconclusive-just like your Uncle and the others. Agent Hill thinks it would be a good idea if we kept you here under observation."

"I'm not you're son." The young hunter felt himself tense-not sure what he should expect. "And just how long do you expect to keep me here?"

"Until you get well…or," the doctor stopped and glanced to the fed with an unsure look.

"Or until I die." Sam shook his head. "You're not keeping me here." _No fucking way. _

Agent Hill stepped closer to him. "Mr. Davis, you're obviously sick and have had connections to a deceased victim involved in a Center for Disease Control investigation. We need your cooperation in this matter." The guy's voice was calm, but Sam didn't miss the hard edge that belied the definition of _cooperation_. "I have the authority to insist that you stay."

"I haven't been in contact with my uncle or anyone else who died." Lying had a way of coming back and biting you in the ass.

"None of the other victims had physical contact either. We need to look into other possibilities."

"Other possibilities?" Sam was beginning to feel as if he were trapped in a very bad X-files episode. He was sure that if they weren't in an oxygen rich environment that Agent Hill would be brandishing a cigarette and leering at him through a veil of smoke.

The doctor had slipped up next to the hunter unnoticed and now put a firm hand on his shoulder. "This won't hurt, Sam. We just want to put you under and do a simple exploratory procedure."

"What?" Sam pulled away from the man-stumbling into a table full of shiny instruments. Funny-he hadn't noticed that before.

"You're the first person we've reached before the virus or contagion was rampant in their system."

"I don't care. You don't even know what you're dealing with!." Sam knew he could take out the doctor and probably the two orderlies, but the agent might offer a challenge-especially considering Sam wasn't in top form. But he was willing to try. "I'm not going to be your guinea pig."

He made a move towards the door, and was instantly besieged by the bulky men in white coats. Sam was able to fight them off and to stagger for the door again only to receive a perfectly placed fist from Agent Hill that took him to his knees. Sam could have sworn the man was grinning as he threw the sucker punch. Obviously the prick had watched one too many crime dramas.

"Damn it!" He heard Dr. Hayes shout through his half-conscious state. "This kid is a patient-not a prisoner."

The techs were beside Sam now-lifting him off the floor and placing him on the bed. It took a moment for the shock of being hit to wear off, but when it did, Sam began to struggle again. "Let me go!"

Dean heard his brother's strained voice as soon as he stepped into the ICU ward. "Let me up! I don't want to be sedated. Get off!"

He quickened his pace and was more than a little thrown by the scene that greeted him when he plowed through the doorway. Dean could see several people gathered around a bed that was partially concealed by a curtain. Dr. Hayes was there as well as several nurses and a man in a black suit-that Dean assumed was probably the CDC agent that the doctor had mentioned. _Fucking great!_ "What the hell is going on?"

Sam pulled away from one of the male nurses holding onto his arm, and struggled to sit up. He looked instantly relieved when he saw his brother. "Dean!"

"Sam?" Dean didn't like the look of fear in his brother's eyes, or the large red mark on the side of his face. "Are you alright?"

"They won't let me out of here." Sam suddenly sounded like a little boy ratting out the playground bully. "They think they're going to do some kind of procedure."

"I don't think so." Dean stepped farther into the room.

"Your brother needs to be admitted to the hospital." Cheap suit dude turned to face the older hunter. "We think he may have the same thing that killed your uncle and the other people from New Hope."

"Back off." Dean ignored the agent and stepped up to the table and pointed a finger at the man still holding on to his brother. "My brother agreed to the tests. He never said he'd be admitted."

"He's distressed," Dr. Hayes explained, but nodded to the man to do as Dean demanded. "An extremely high temperature can cloud ones judgment."

Dean took hold of Sam's chin and turned his head so he could get a look at the quickly darkening bruise that was going to leave one hell of a shiner. "Can it also cause a black eye?"

"Your brother was out of control. Delusional."Hill explained in a cocky, matter-of-fact tone.

The older Winchester let go of Sam and raised his brow. "You did this, shit for brains?"

"Mr. Davis, as I've tried to explain-Sam is not thinking clearly." Dr. Hayes was trying his best to prevent further mayhem in his medical facility. "His life and the lives of countless others could be at stake."

Dean glared at the physician. _And your claim to fame-just around the corner. _"I'm his next of kin, Doctor, and I have complete control of my faculties. My brother isn't staying here."

"That's not your choice to make."

"The hell it's not."

"This is an official CDC matter now." The agent looked calmly at the nurse who was holding a fully loaded syringe at the ready. "Sedate him."

"No!" Sam struggled and Dean felt himself lose what little composure that he had left.

The agent didn't know what hit him as Dean landed a quick blow to his mid-section and then followed up with one to his face-that laid him out flat. "No one hits my brother," he bit out shaking his throbbing hand.

When it was obvious that Agent Hill wasn't getting up anytime soon, Dean spun and shoved Dr. Hayes back. "Get the hell away from him."

Hayes held up his hands and nodded to his staff. "Let the boy go." Apparently the agent's defeat was cause enough for the medical team to retreat.

Sam quickly slid from the table and stepped over the unconscious Hill. "'Bout damn time you showed up," he growled, angrily.

Dean backed out of the room and rushed to catch up to his brother, who was wasting no time in getting the hell out of there. He shook his head, and pushed open the fire escape for him. "What is it with you and fucking deranged doctors, Sammy?"

Sam glared at him. "Shut-up, Dean."

"Seriously-are you okay?"

"I'd been better if my big brother hadn't convinced me to stay and have tests taken by Dr. Freako."

"Yeah, well, I'd be a whole hell of a lot better right now if _my_ baby brother hadn't convinced me to have our picture taken by the Crypt Keeper-but who's pointing fingers?"

The younger Winchester didn't acknowledge the dig nor did he stop until they were out of the stairwell and across the lobby of the ER. He pushed through the outside doors, surprised no one tried to stop them, and kept moving until he'd reached the Impala that Dean had thankfully parked illegally in a fire zone. _How ironic._

"Dean?" Sam braced himself against the car and tried to catch his breath from the sprint.

The older Winchester caught up to him, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. "Sam?"

The younger hunter raised his eyes to meet his brother's gaze. "Don't ever leave me again."

Dean got the feeling his brother wasn't just referring to the whole hospital scene. "Sure thing, little brother."

"And Dean?"

"Sam?"

"I'm going to pass out now." And he did.

Dean caught him and they both sunk to the ground before the older hunter could stop their momentum. "Sam!"

Luckily Dean hit first-his knees taking the brunt of the rough asphalt landing. He managed to cradle Sam's upper body against his chest, although his brother's long legs tangled in an uncomfortable-looking angle.

"Sammy?" he tried again, but the younger man didn't stir. _Damn it._

Dean could feel his chest rise and fall and his soft breath was warm against his fingers that he had resting against his brother's face. _Thank God. _They still had a whole day to figure this out. Sam was going to pull through.

He sighed wearily. But what the hell was he suppose to do now? For a moment, he wondered if he should take his brother back to the hospital-quickly realizing that wasn't an option. There was no cure for Sam- that the medical community could offer anyway.

No-he had to get his brother up and in the car. They had to meet with Sheriff Landry and then go to Wakeen's where the former teacher _would_ tell them what was written in John's journal. And then, along with what Dean had learned from Reese, and what the brother's had already put together- the Winchester's would kick some ass and Sam would be fine. Just fine. But first he had to get them off the fucking pavement.

Dean took a deep breath and tightened his hold on his brother. He closed his eyes for only a moment, resting his chin atop Sam's hair-and wished not for the first time that John would just call him. The hunter had left their father three messages -the first one right after Dean had known in his gut that Sam was an unwilling part in whatever they were investigating. But he had heard nothing back-not like he'd really expected it. Not like Kansas._ Bastard._

Anger gave him a renewed since of purpose. "Come on, Sammy," Dean opened his eyes and found the strength to maneuver himself and his brother up from the unforgiving ground. He leaned Sam up against the car and managed to keep a hold of him and open the passenger's door. "We'll take care of it ourselves. Just like always. Just the two of us."

Dean and Sam Winchester-against the fucking world.

Chapter 9-coming soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Negative Effect

By: Ridley and Will

Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who takes the time to review. I'm sorry I don't get a chance to get back to everyone individually. But you are so appreciated.

_The ocean surf crashed in the distance-the sound of it deceptively soothing. _

_Sam could feel the sun beating down on his bare shoulders, and sweat dripped from his long hair into his eyes-stinging and blurring his vision. _

_His hands hurt-felt raw as if he'd scraped the skin from his palms. He wanted to lift them to get a better look at what was causing his agony, but something kept him from moving. _

_Instead, he mentally took stock of the rest of his body. He was laying on something hard, jagged and rough-rocks, and his arms ached as if they were under a great strain. _

_With an anguishing effort, Sam lifted his head, felt the cool wind rush over his flushed face, and saw the great body of blue water below him. _

Below him? _He knew this place._

_Sam shook his pounding head-not willing to believe what he was seeing-what he was reliving. _

_If he was in California- back at Topstone Ridge- then that meant…_

_Sam looked down and terror consumed him-driving out the vague realization that he was once again caught in a nightmare. _

_About twenty feet below him, a body swung precariously from a rope-bouncing against the sheer cliff facing. _

Dean!

_Sam tightened his grip on the rope he was desperately clinging to-the rough fibers biting into his already torn skin. _

_He could feel his muscles shaking as his body slid across the sand and pebbles. His lanky fifteen year old form unable to bear his brother's heavier dead weight for much longer. _

_They weren't suppose to be climbing on the cliffs-not suppose to be exploring the caves. _

_But since when did larger than life, nineteen year old Dean Winchester consider the rules when it came to a good hunt. _

_Sam fought back a wave of panic as he realized that he was losing his battle with gravity. He could feel his brother slipping from him. _

"_Let go, Sammy." _

_Thank God . John was there- just like he remembered. His father had shown up just in the knick of time. "Dad-help me," Sam ground out through clinched teeth. "Dean's hurt. He's going to fall."_

_Sam felt his father's cool hand on his sun-baked skin. "Let him go, son. You have to let go."_

What? _"No!" Sam didn't understand. His dad was suppose to grab the rope-help him pull Dean from the clutches of death. That's how it had happened. They'd saved him-together._

_But there was no helping hand this time- no comforting words of encouragement. _

_Everything was wrong. "Let go, Sam. Now!"_

_His father was pulling him back away from the ledge. _

_At first his hope soared and he thought John was gaining leverage, but then the older hunter's hands were on his-prying them from around the rope. _No.

_Sam's fingers were already slick with his own blood and his father was stronger. "Listen to me, Sam." John's deep voice was so steady, his breath warm against Sam's cheek. "This is the only way, kiddo. Trust me."_

_One of Sam's hand was free, now clasped in his father's grip. Sam felt his brother slide farther away from him. "No! Please-Dad. Don't let him go."_

_He felt part of himself tear away as his other hand was finally pulled from the rope and his brother disappeared in the rocky surf below. Sam felt it the moment he was gone. The pain was unlike anything he'd known. It was what he'd always feared. He was being consumed by the fire._

"_No!" he howled, rolling onto his back and squeezing his eyes shut against the glaring sun and the biting flames. He couldn't face his father's repentant gaze. Or the lack thereof. "Dean!"_

"_Look at me, Sam." John's voice was like a knife stabbing through his skull-his rough hands like hot pokers searing his skin. "Sammy, look at me! Sam!"_

"Sam?" Dean had slowed the car as soon as his brother began to struggle against the seat belt. They weren't far from the center of town and the sheriff's office. It was already after 3:00, but Dean couldn't bear the desperate sound of Sam's pleas for their father.

He pulled the car to the side of the road and leaned over to shake his brother awake.

"Sam-open your eyes, damn it. Look at me." God he was burning up. "Sammy." He shook his brother harder, alarmed at how hot his skin was. "Wake up."

Finally, Sam's eyes snapped open and he gasped. "Oh, God."

"Hey," Dean put a restraining hand on his chest, keeping him in the seat, "you okay?"

Sam turned his head-seeking out his brother and visibly sank back against the seat in relief.

"Another nightmare?"

Sam nodded- not yet trusting his voice. The dream was so real-the events so similar to what had really happened when they lived in Delray for that short vacation their father had earnestly promised them. It had all been the same-all except for the ending.

Sam felt the bile creep up the back of his throat and he fumbled to get his seat belt undone.

Dean must have realized his urgency because he unfastened it for him and then leaned across to push his door open.

Sam was shaking and spent before he finished throwing up what meager contents he had left in his stomach from the previous night, and his brother's worried gaze was on him as soon as he leaned back in the seat. Dean handed him a bottle of water he'd dug out of the backseat floorboard. "I'd ask if you were okay, but that would be a ridiculous question."

Sam forced a half grin and sipped the cool liquid. His voice was rough as it ground against his raw throat. "Never stopped you before."

Dean raked both hands through his hair. "You going to tell me what's going on with you, Sammy?"

"I'm dying from a mysterious curse, Dean. Where have you been?"

The older hunter shook his head at his brother's sick humor-not amused that he was turning the tables. "You know what I mean." He stared at the pale face he could read like the back of his hand. "The nightmares haven't been this bad since Jess. Then that whole incident at the photo shop this morning-that wasn't just a headache."

"You a psychic now?"

"Cut the crap, Sammy."

Sam sighed, and rubbed his aching head-so frustrated with the constant pounding and mental fuzziness. "Well…you see, big brother- I have this ESP thing going on."

Dean shook his head. "I've noticed," he replied flatly.

Sam glanced out the window-seeing the small town of New Hope in the distance. "I've been dreaming about you- all right," He looked at Dean, anger making his glassy eyes even brighter, "about your death."

"Okay."

"What do you mean-okay?" Sam pushed himself up in the seat, sloshing water out of the bottle in the process. "Do you remember Jess? And Kansas?"

"Easy on the leather," Dean swiped at the spill, avoiding his brother's gaze.

"Did you hear what I said, Dean?" Sam coughed, and finished off the bottle before tossing it in the floorboard.

Dean lifted his gaze and frowned. "I heard you." When his brother continued to look at him in his typical puppy dog fashion-made a hundred times more potent by the feverish glaze-Dean forced a cocky grin. "But I'm still not convinced you're the real deal. When you get your own show, or a spot on Montel, then I'll be concerned."

"You are such an ass." Sam rubbed at his weary eyes, trying to clear his blurry vision.

Dean laughed and gave his neck a quick squeeze, "Yeah-but you love me."

Sam bit his lip, trying to keep a hold on his emotions that were on one hell of a rollercoaster ride. "I do."

His brother flinched, and Sam had to think hard to remember when exactly the last time the L-word had been used. It was one of the few four-letter words that the Winchester men didn't toss around lightly.

Dean leaned back in his own seat, physically distancing himself. But he kept his eyes locked on Sam, and finally nodded. "It's a mutual admiration."

Sam laughed. "God-we're so screwed up."

"Repressed," Dean smiled, "Dr. Marilyn would say that we were repressed."

"Among other things."

"Speak for yourself-she _liked _me."

"Right."

"Really-older chicks can't resist me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're every woman's dream, man-so sensitive and open."

Dean smirked at him and finally started the car. "Well if this little episode of the _Shining_ is over- I'd like to get to Sheriff Taylor's before he heads off to Aunt Bee's for some supper."

The younger Winchester slid his seatbelt back on. "I can't wait."

Dean put the car in gear and started to pull back onto the road but Sam's hand on his arm stopped him. "What's wrong?"

Sam swallowed, wincing slightly at the pain it caused. "Just promise me one thing."

"Anything for you, buttercup."

Sam ignored yet another attempt at glibness. "Promise me that you won't do anything crazy."

Dean merely raised a brow.

"No matter what happens-I need to know that you won't get yourself killed trying to save me. This is going to take _us _working together-using our _intellect_-not some vigilante-gung ho, G.I. Joe heroics."

"Gotcha- no G.I. Joe stuff." Dean raised his hand, "Scout's honor."

"Dean," Sam growled. "You weren't a Scout."

"Okay," Dean sighed. "I promise I won't do anything stupid."

Sam let go of his brother and pulled his hand back to his side of the car. "Good." He looked back at his brother as they pulled onto the road. "By the way-how was your meeting with Reese Mathers? "

Dean shot his brother another wicked grin. "Sort of like falling down the rabbit hole and going to a bizarre tea party-only the Mad Hatter was John Winchester give or take a couple of decades."

Sam frowned. "I see."

"No you don't," Dean floored the accelerator, "but you will, Sammy. When this is all over, we owe Reese Mathers a piece of the best caramel apple tortilla in five states."

"You are some piece of work, kid." Buck Landry made his way around his desk and glared at the young man who'd just waltzed into his office like he owned it.

"Thanks," Dean shot Sam a curious look, but held out he two arrows from their attack that he'd brought to Buck. "These are the deadly artifacts I was telling you about." He motioned to Sam-who was leaning against the wall. "This is my associate, Sam."

"That it?" Buck took the arrows but continued to glare at Dean.

"Sorry we're late?" Dean offered with a winning grin on his face. "Traffic was a bitch."

Buck shook his head. "Oh, don't worry about it-you're right on time. Saved me the trouble of sending a posse out for your asses."

"You small town folk take time real literal like don't you?"

"Us small town folk don't take to lying-that's for sure."

"I'm not sure I'm following you here, Buck."

"Well-Dean, I'll make it short and sweet. You see, I just received a call from an Agent Hill over at the hospital. It seems that two boys-fitting your descriptions by the way-are wanted for obstruction of justice." He pointed at Dean, and his face reddened. "And you, Mr. hotshot reporter, are wanted for assaulting a federal officer."

"He was trying to hold Sam against his will," Dean shot back, and gestured to Sam's face. Buck wasn't the only one losing his cool. "What about police brutality? The fucker punched my brother-what the hell was I suppose to do?"

"Brother?" Buck shook his head, but some of the anger faded from his features. "I thought he was your _associate_?"

"Yeah-and I thought this was a friendly little town?"

"Look, Sheriff," Sam finally pushed away from the wall and stepped in between the other two men, "we're only trying to help."

"I thought you were trying to get a story? You boys aren't reporters. I called Denver."

"No, we're not reporters."

"Then who the hell are you and what do you have to do with what's going on in my town?"

"There's no time to explain all that," Dean bit out. "You told me that you'd take us to see the teacher-the one who could tell us about these arrows and what's written in our Dad's journal."

"Well I told Agent Hill that I'd put you in jail and bring your _brother_ here back to the hospital."

Dean stepped in front of Sam. "Over my dead body."

"Don't tempt me, kid."

"Look," Sam tried again. "I'm not going back to that hospital. If you won't help us, just tell us where the old man lives. We'll do it on our own." _Just like always. _

"I don't know, kid." Buck hitched his hands on his hips. " I'm no doctor-but you sure look like you _need_ to be in a hospital."

"That's because he's the last victim." Sam and Buck both looked at Dean in surprise. "The last element."

Sam continued to look at his brother, but the sheriff rolled his eyes to the ceiling and threw out his hands in a frustrated gesture. "You've been talking to old Reese Mathers."

"So?"

"So-the old guy's crazy, kid. He spent most of the last fifty years of his life in a mental institution. People around these parts are half afraid of him."

"That doesn't mean he's crazy." Again John Winchester entered his son's mind-unbidden and unwelcome.

Buck stared at him as if he'd lost _his _mind. "What does it mean? That he liked the cafeteria food at the asylum or maybe he was on a really long undercover assignment. You know how crazy those reporter types are."

"Or maybe he was right all those years ago."

"About the Devil stealing his wife's soul?" Sheriff Landry sighed. "Come on, son, surely you're too old for ghost stories. You don't believe those people died because of a curse?"

"I think it was more of a spell than a curse-a spell cast by a really powerful witch."

The older man looked from Dean to Sam-who was back to hugging the wall. "You willing to bet your own brother's life on that shit?"

Dean glanced at his brother, who steadily held his gaze. "It's the only chance he has."

Buck took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. Damn, stubborn fools. "I must be crazy as Mathers," he mumbled under his breath. "Say this is something _unnatural_-what makes you think that you can stop it?"

"We've had experience with these things."

"Of course you have."

"Look," Sam spoke up weakly, "this is what we do. If you're not going to help us, at least tell us where to find the old man and let us do our job."

The sheriff ran a hand over his mouth. "This isn't some kind of game." He looked at Dean. "People in my town have died. People that I have sworn my life to protect."

Dean could respect that. He had sworn his life to protect Sam. He stepped closer to Landry-his sheer will and attitude making up for the inches he was lacking on the man. "My brother's life is at stake. I don't take anything more seriously than that."

They continued to glare at each other for a long tense moment and just when Sam was sure that they were going to take ten paces and draw down on one another-the sheriff broke eye contact.

"God damn, ghost busters roll into my town and make me look like a two bit…"

Sam lost the last of the clipped tirade as the big man stormed across the room to his desk where he grabbed a shotgun, his hat and his keys.

His brother tensed and Sam didn't miss the fact that Dean's hand twitched. He sent a quick, desperate prayer out that Dean had left his gun in the car, but Buck merely stormed back past them-calling over his shoulder as he went out the door. "Get a move on, boys. We're burning daylight."

Dean shot Sam a puzzled look. "Did we just get deputized?"

The younger Winchester shrugged. "Looks that way."

Dean stepped over and took his brother by the arm. "Think he'll give me a silver star?"

Sam shook his head as they slowly made their way out of the office. "I don't think you'd want to hear where he'd tell you to stick it."

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "about damn time I met a cop I actually liked."

"Yeah-miracles never cease."

It would be a miracle if they made it to Wakeen's in one piece.

Sam sighed and tried not to think about the fact they were driving at breakneck speed on an unfamiliar road and his brother seemed hell bent for leather. Why did the police always seem to think that speed limits didn't apply to them?

To make matters worse, Dean kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he followed the Sheriff along the _short cut _leading out of New Hope like it was amateur night at the Daytona speedway. Sam wasn't sure who was more scared him-or Dean.

Dean couldn't believe how bad his brother looked.

He was pale and the older hunter could see him shivering from his side of the car, even in the fading light of the day.

"I'm not dead yet." Sam said, without turning to face the concerned look he knew was plastered on his older brother's face.

"I just don't want you to barf in my car." Dean turned his gaze back to the road, mentally kicking himself for not willing to accept how sick Sam was before.

This time Sam did look at him. "I appreciate the concern."

"Yeah, well I'd appreciate it if you didn't pass out anymore on this hunt. I'm tired of carrying you."

Sam grinned. "You can admit that your worried, you know."

Dean shot him a quick look. "Worried? Why would I be worried? Four people are dead, I'm wanted for assaulting a federal officer, and you're looking like an extra for a Rob Zombie flick."

Dean hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand in frustration as break lights once again flashed in front of him, "Not to mention that fucking Bat Masterson needs to learn how to drive and this freakin' Indian had to live a hundred miles out of town."

"Native American is the politically correct term," Sam pointed out, and wasn't disappointed when his brother gave him the patented Winchester glare.

"So I've heard."

Dean had to suddenly swerve to miss a crater masquerading, as a pothole and Sam couldn't quite stop his sharp intake of breath as pain flared behind his eyes. "Damn it," he hissed- bringing his hand to his eyes and letting his head rest against the window again.

"Sorry," Dean swallowed hard, catching himself before he reached a hand out to Sam. "Just try and breathe through it."

Sam raised his hand enough to open one eye and give his brother a 'you've got to be shitting me' look.

Dean shrugged. "It worked when I was on that plane."

"You didn't have a brass band playing in your head," Sam growled, but took his brother's suggestion all the same.

The older Winchester's hands tightened on the wheel until he was white knuckled. "Better?" Why couldn't this all be over? Why did this shit always happen to Sam?

"Yeah." Sam kept his eyes closed, but the lines of pain on his face had seemed to soften some.

Brake lights flashed again and Landry took a sharp right-turning onto a dirt lot in front a large wooded area. "Looks like we're here." _Finally. _

"Good." Sam opened his eyes and leaned forward. "I didn't know which was going to kill me first, this bug or your driving."

Dean shook his head and got out of the car. He waited to see if he needed to go around and help Sam, but his pigheaded brother made it out on his own.

"We'll have to walk from here." Buck had exited his car and made it back to the two Winchesters. "It's not very far."

Dean frowned. "You said that about the drive, too."

The sheriff sighed. "Damn-you city boys take time quite literally-don't ya?"

"I was born in Kansas." Dean moved past the man, and took Sam's arm, despite the annoyed look the younger man shot him. "I've never lived in a city longer than a few weeks. So maybe it's just that you country hicks can't tell your ass from a hole in the ground."

"He always this friendly?" Landry asked Sam as he rushed to keep up with the two.

"You should see him before he has his morning coffee."

"Less talking- more walking." Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and nodded towards the sheriff. "We've got a Native American to see."

Thankfully, Landry hadn't been wrong about the short trail that led into the woods and then opened up to reveal a small wooden cabin. Still- Sam was breathing hard and nearly out on his feet before they reached their destination.

"You okay?" Dean let go of his brother and hesitated in stepping away, until Sam nodded.

"Just winded."

"Right." Dean looked at the sheriff. "You waiting for an invitation?"

Buck sighed at the younger man's attitude, but knocked on the door just the same. "It's not like I have a warrant or anything. He may not even want to talk with us."

"Oh, he's going to talk to us." Dean could feel the cold metal of the gun that he'd slipped into the back of his jeans pressing into his back. "One way or another."

The lawman knocked again. "Wakeen- it's me. Sheriff Landry."

Dean looked at the door and strained to hear any sound of movement from inside the dwelling. "What's taking so long?"

"The man's in a wheel chair-give him some time, kid."

Dean didn't feel like it was necessary to point out that time was one thing that they had little of, so he let a look of irritation suffice. It was already dark and dawn would bring the third day of Sam's illness. And in this case- _third time _wasn't charmed.

Finally, just before Dean decided that kicking the door in was an appropriate solution to his anxiety- the door opened and a soft light fell over the three men waiting on the sagging wooden porch.

Despite the warm glow coming from within the house, it was still pretty dark inside and even after Dean squinted, he couldn't make out the person who had motioned them in.

Landry stepped over the threshold, removing his hat, as he had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the low entranceway. Sam and Dean followed.

The cabin was more spacious than it had appeared from the outside. The floors were wooden, and several braided rugs of different colors were scattered about.

One wall was stone and held a massive mantle and fireplace, where a warm fire was crackling. It was providing the only light.

Furnishings were sparse, but everything seemed tidy. The smell of tobacco and coffee was strong in the air, and something else wafted in from a room off to the side, that had Dean's stomach reminding him that he and his brother hadn't eaten in a while.

"We're sorry to drop by so late, Wakeen. But we were hoping you could help us."

A wheel chair slowly rolled into view from behind the door, and dancing patterns of light from the fire cast the old man's face in an array of orange and gold tones.

Sam's harsh intake of breath reached Dean's ears at the same moment that the features registered with his memory.

"What the hell…" Dean nearly knocked Sam over as he took a defensive step back and pushed his kid brother behind him.

Although being hunched in a wheelchair and wrapped tightly in a woven blanket made Wakeen appear fragile and harmless- he was in fact the same man who'd accosted Dean and Sam at the Rest Inn their first night in town and then again in front of the diner.

The old man looked at Dean and smiled. "Welcome, Mountain Lion. I was expecting you."


	10. Chapter 10

Negative Effect

Chapter 10

By: Ridley and Will

A/N: Dig in guys-this is where some of that Sam-like research hopefully pays off. BTW, people tend to stare at you strangely when you ask for books on soul stealing and witchcraft symbols. It reminds me of a client I had once that believed he was an alchemist….okay way off topic. On with the story.

A/A/N: Just wanted to say thanks to those who have reviewed for this story and indulged my writing tangent on others with no updates on Where We Find God. It is coming…soon.

Dean had his gun out and pointed at Wakeen in one fluid well-practiced motion.

The sheriff was almost as quick to react, but hesitated in pulling his own gun. "What the hell is going on, Dean?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question," Dean shifted the gun to cover Landry. "Are you in on this, too?"

"In on what?" Landry demanded, his face turning red.

"You know what!" Dean ground out-not liking one bit that he was played for a fool.

"The only thing I know, kid, is that you need to put that canon away before I put your ass under my jail."

"Dean," Sam's hand came up and rested on his brother's shoulder, "put the gun down. I don't think we're in any danger here."

The older Winchester shot him an incredulous look. "Just because you're spidey sense isn't tingling, Super Freak, doesn't mean there's not baddies in the vicinity."

"Trust your brother's judgment, Mountain Lion. His intuition serves him well."

"Cut the crap, Obi-wan," Dean stepped closer to Wakeen, "I'm not backing down until you tell me what the hell you are."

Wakeen shrugged. "I assure you that I'm as human as you or your brother." He glanced down at his blanket-covered legs. "Just a little lacking in the appendage area."

"Would somebody please tell _me_ what the hell is going on." Landry glared at Dean. "And put that damn gun down, you hardheaded sonuvabitch. I've known Wakeen my whole life. He ain't no monster."

"He's not a saint either. Wakeen here has been a little more mobile lately than he'd like to let on. He attacked my brother and me at the Rest Inn and at the Jalepeno."

Wakeen sighed, and looked at Buck. "Your young friends think that we have met before-twice, maybe three times, I believe. Sometimes I can't remember."

"That's crazy," Landry defended the old man. He looked at Dean. "Wakeen lost his legs in a car accident about two years ago. I was there on the scene. Trust me-he ain't lying about it."

Sam ignored the second staring duel of the night between his brother and the sheriff and stepped from around Dean, closer to Wakeen. "What did you mean when you said that you can't always remember?"

"The projections some times happen in my sleep. In those instances, I am not always sure what is a dream and what is a journey."

"Astral projection?" Sam asked, only to hear his brother sigh in frustration.

"Yes," Wakeen nodded.

Dean looked away from the sheriff at the old man's admission and lowered his gun-seeing as how his brother was now smack dab in his line of fire. _Stupid, trusting…_ "You suggesting your free-floating conscious accosted me and my brother?"

Wakeen's brown eyes met and held Dean's cold gaze. "I am telling you that I have never personally met you or your brother."

"You don't sound the same." Sam looked at his brother . "His voice is different-the dialect, the way he arranges words. It's not the same, Dean." The hunter glanced back at the old man. " He _feels _different."

Dean shook his head at his brother's empathic mumbo jumbo but slid his gun into the back of his jeans. "Sam-astral projections aren't corporeal." The older hunter wrapped his hand around Sam's wrist and lifted it slightly, giving Wakeen an accusing glare. "And the last time I checked they didn't cause electrical burns either."

"If it were a simple spirit journey that would be true. But this is something entirely different."

"How?" Sam gently pulled away from his brother.

"There are ways that a spirit can possess another's body and use it to their benefit." Wakeen glanced from Sam to his brother. "Geronimo was a great shaman. He is powerful even now."

"Oh boy," Landry groaned and took a seat in the chair closest to him.

"So, you want us to believe that _the_ Geronimo went all body snatchers on you so that he could attack my brother-twice." _Not to mention what he did to my car. _

Wakeen looked sympathetically at Sam. "You must have a wealth of patience, young man." He'd taught high school and college for many years and he'd encountered every kind of attitude around. Dean wasn't going to be easy.

Sam shot his brother a reprimanding look, before nodding his agreement. "Why does Geronimo need another form to astral project if he kept his abilities in death?"

"He doesn't need me to project- he needs me as more of a cloak of sorts."

"You're his stealth shield?" Dean asked glibly.

"This just keeps getting better," Landry grumbled, running a hand over his face.

"Dean," Sam warned again, fed up with his brother's inability to listen to Wakeen without his usual sarcastic comments.

"It's alright," the old man assured him. "It is in a leader's nature to be protective and distrusting." Wakeen nodded to the couch near him. "Come and sit." When Dean didn't move and Sam looked reluctant to leave his side, Wakeen added, "You're brother looks like he could fall over at any time."

That did the trick. Dean practically escorted Sam to the couch.

"Who is Geronimo hiding from?" the younger Winchester asked as soon as he was sitting.

"Jebidiah Monroe."

"Who?" the sheriff asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

It was Dean who answered him. "The creepy old shutterbug who runs the photo shop in town-better known as your resident soul collector."

"Right. Of course. " Buck sighed, leaning back in the chair once more and closing his eyes. He was starting to feel one hell of headache coming on.

"So you figured out who the Crow was?" Wakeen was hoping that they were putting things together quickly. The time to act was at hand.

Dean frowned. "You're friend Geronimo could have just filled us in-you know?"

"I have no control over what he does or does not say or do. I do not know the limits on what he can convey."

"_You_ could have contacted us," Sam pointed out.

Wakeen ran a hand over his long silver hair and sighed. "In the beginning, I only knew you would be coming because of a dream. In it I saw a Mountain Lion being led by the White Wolf. I have a vague memory of your faces from the projections, but did not know how to reach you. And then there was the attack at the inn, and Geronimo feared that you would fall into the Crow's trap… "

"Which we did," Dean pointed out, angrily. "Which brings me to the big question," he pinned the old man with a hard stare. "Why-why is all this happening? And how the hell do we stop it?"

"I can tell you what I know." Wakeen crossed his arms over his chest and launched into lecture mode. "Not long after my accident, I went on a vision quest. I had performed the ritual countless times but never had I encountered anything like I did that night." He looked at Dean and then to Sam. "At first, I believed I was being visited by an ancestor, one of my grandfathers." He smiled. "Honestly, it scared the hell out of me. But then the white wolf appeared and I heard a voice in my head. It was Geronimo."

"You didn't see him? Just the Wolf?" Sam raised a brow. "And it talked to you?"

"The Wolf didn't speak. It is Geronimo's power animal-a spiritual creature that appears on a spirit journey of the soul. Most humans have them, but in some…" Wakeen glanced at Dean, "…they are more dominant."

"The mountain lion," Sam glanced at his brother, with a hint of amusement, "that's Dean's spirit animal?"

"I don't have a spirit animal!" Dean glared at his brother. "I don't even like cats."

Wakeen looked at the older Winchester. "The lion is a representation of dignity, power and leadership. It is more than likely the reason Geronimo recognized you and sought you out. Like it's cousins the jaguar and panther, it is often sentinel to those in it's kinship or tribe-sacrificing anything for their safety and prosperity." The old Indian nodded to Sam. "In many cultures the lion is the protector of the sacred fire."

Dean rolled his eyes, not comfortable with the whole idea of having a big kitty padding around after him. "Could we just focus here- get back to Geronimo."

The old man grinned at Dean's discomfort. "Geronimo told me that he was trapped and asked that I help him." Wakeen sighed, and motioned to the chair he was sitting in. "I myself, was feeling very trapped at the time-trapped in my own, aging, damaged body- so I swore that I would."

"How?" Sam asked. "How did he expect you to help him?"

"Geronimo told me of the soul collector and the fact that he had managed to keep him here on this plane-never allowing him to return to our ancestors-never to reunite with his family. He said that a time was coming when it could be changed-a time when more people would suffer his fate."

"The recent deaths," Dean glanced at his brother. "Did he tell you how to stop them?"

"No. His words were hard to follow, and when I emerged- I didn't remember everything." Wakeen looked at Dean. "Dealing with another realm is not always black and white, but I felt an urgency-a calling- to comply. Perhaps it was a way to help myself heal-but I felt useful again."

"So-what did you do?"

Wakeen smiled at Sam. "I called someone who knew more about the supposed curse."

"Reese Mathers?" Dean offered, and Landry spoke for the first time, although the words were mumbled under his breath.

Wakeen shot the sheriff a scolding look and Dean imagined it was a well-practiced one from his time in front of the chalkboard. "Reese told me a great deal of things. He is knowledgeable-although a little eccentric."

_Eccentric, my ass. _"Yeah, I talked with him earlier."

"He gave me a name of a man who could possibly help," Wakeen continued , thoughtfully. "A man I believe you both know. John Winchester."

"What?" Sam and Dean spoke at the same time, mimicking each other's thoughts.

Wakeen smiled. "He sent you to help me. Yes?"

"You talked with our dad?" Sam shared a look with Dean. "When? Where?"

Dean was still struggling with the fact that Reese knew their father and forgot to mention it. It did however explain how he had known about the fire that took their mother and all the other things that he'd told Dean about the witchcraft involved.

"He came here-after my quest. I called him and he came. Just like that. He spent some time in the town and with Reese. John researched the scant information that I had and put it together with what Reese had compiled over the years. Your father discovered Monroe's identity and told me when the killings would most likely occur again. He said that the pattern was a fifty year cycle."

Dean nodded-that sounded like their dad. The man was a genius at pulling together patterns. He and Sam were a lot alike in that way. "And then what? He left?"

"He could not find any signs of Monroe's or Geronimo's presence. He said that it was likely that they would not return to New Hope until the anniversary and promised that he would come back when I needed him. We kept in touch over the last couple of years and I called him as soon as I realized what was going on with the new deaths."

Dean shot Sam a look. "And he e-mailed us."

"I knew he had sent you, when I saw the white wolf again, although I was unsure of why you had not come to see me."

"We didn't know anything about you, Wakeen. Our dad…"

"Is mysterious," Dean interrupted, "to say the least." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his dad's journal. "Do you recognize this?"

Wakeen nodded. "Your father took notes on what I told him. He wrote down the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" _What the hell?_

"The one Geronimo told to me."

"You might have mentioned that in the beginning."

"Do you often read the end of a story before the beginning chapter?" Wakeen asked and Dean shook his head at the man's obvious enjoyment of this whole unfolding of the mystery.

_I bet you and Dad got along really great. _Dean flipped through the pages of his father's journal until he came to the unknown writing. He turned the book around so that Wakeen could see it. "You mean this? You know what it says?"

"Yes." Wakeen took the book from Dean and read the words in English.

"_Half a man made a deal sealed by death,_

_And in penance five souls will be taken to shield her health._

_An offer of blood to trap a mortal enemy by hate,_

_When only a sacrifice of love will change their fate_."

"What does it mean?" Sheriff Landry was leaning forward again, peering anxiously at Wakeen. Buck hated to admit it, but the whole thing had his interest up.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean- you don't know?" Dean stood angrily, taking the book back from Wakeen. "I thought you had Geronimo on the psychic hotline?"

"Your father and I worked through some of it, Mountain Lion, but he said he would figure the rest out later-before it was too late."

"People have died!" Dean practically yelled. "It's already too late." How could John have been so careless? What was he thinking sending them here practically blind? Did he know about the elements? Did he even consider Sam might be in jeopardy? The man never did anything without a damn good reason.

"Dean," Sam said softly "It's not his fault."

Was his brother talking about Wakeen or John? "Then who's fault is it, Sammy? You're sick." Dean motioned angrily to the darkened window across from them. "And in case you haven't noticed-your time is running out."

"Losing your cool isn't going to help anything, Ace."

Dean looked at the sheriff as if he had slapped him. Only one man called him _Ace-_and that man wasn't high on Dean's list of favorite people at the moment. The idea of their father sending Sam knowingly into danger and Dean being his unknowing accomplice was too much to swallow. "What did you say?"

Buck raised a brow, confused that the kid was now looking at _him_ with murder in his eyes. "I said that yelling at Wakeen wasn't going to save your brother's life."

Sam stood in time to catch Dean's arm before he could go after Landry. It wasn't the Sheriff he was angry at. The lawman had innocently struck a match to a powder keg.

"I'll kill you," Dean spat under his breath and lunged for the bigger man.

Buck stood slowly, not looking too concerned-only puzzled by the kid's intense reaction.

It took all of Sam's strength to hold his brother back. "Dean-stop it! He didn't know this would happen. He wouldn't do that."

Sam wasn't talking about Landry and they both understood that.

"I'll kill him," Dean said again, struggling against his brother's hold, unable to see through the red haze that had enveloped his senses. All he wanted to do was strike out at someone-someone who wasn't there, but Landry would do.

_Ace. _God, when had he come to loathe that name? He was sure that it was sometime between pulling Sam from his burning apartment and watching him slip away the past two days. And his father's failure to appear in Kansas didn't cast the nickname in the same endearing light that it had once been held.

"Stop!" Sam felt his energy fading. "I can't …do…this…"

The change in his brother's voice had the darkness quickly subsiding, and Dean turned around in time to catch him before his legs gave way.

"Sammy?" Dean eased him down on the couch.

"I'll get him something to drink," Wakeen offered turning his chair and starting for the kitchen. "Come help me, Buck. We'll find something for his fever also."

When they were gone, Dean looked at the younger hunter. "You okay?"

"Dean-Dad wouldn't have sent us here if he knew," Sam winced as his body came into contact with the cushions of the couch-it's softness feeling more like stone against his aching body. "You know that-right?" Sam thought a lot of things about his father, but he knew that he valued them-they were all he had left of his wife. He'd witnessed the measures the man would go to when his sons were in danger. He wasn't sure if it was because he hated to lose at anything or because he loved them so damn much-Sam hoped it was the latter.

"I know," Dean sat beside his brother and held the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. "I'm just freakin' pissed." He let out a frustrated sigh. "And-you're damn hot."

Sam forced a grin. "Glad you finally admitted it."

"Don't, Sam."

"Dean…"

Dean glared at him. "Don't Dean me, either! You're dying." His voice softened. "We may have some of the parts of this fucking puzzle but I have no idea how to put them together. And if you hadn't noticed by now we're missing the most important piece." _How to save you, Sam. _

"We'll figure it out. We always do."

"How? How are we going to do it?"

"By starting with what we do know." Sam's dark eyes burned with intensity. "The witch has to be the key. She's what we need to focus on."

Before Dean could reply Landry pushed Wakeen back into the room and then took his seat back. He had two beers, one he sat down in front of Dean-like a peace offering and the older Winchester gave him a small smile of thanks.

The old man was holding a steaming mug which he handed to Sam.

"Drink this, young man. It will help with some of the symptoms."

Dean caught his brother's hand before he could bring the cup to his lips, ignoring the frustrated glare Sam shot him. The older hunter looked at Wakeen. "What is it?"

"Ginseng, bark of the mulberry tree, chamomile-other things." Wakeen smiled, patiently. "It's my grandmother's recipe. It will not hurt him."

Dean let go and Sam took a drink of the concoction, wincing at the bitter taste. "Thanks." _I think. _

The old man laughed. "It tastes bad, but it will ease some of your suffering."

"What do know about this virus?" Dean looked from Wakeen to his brother. "Did you and Dad talk about that?"

"Your father wanted to know what I knew about Soul Loss," the old man rolled himself to a small book shelf and retrieved a notebook. "John believed that the victims back in the 50's had been a victim of it."

"What is it?" Landry asked.

Wakeen opened the book and flipped through a few pages, before looking back up at his captive audience. "The soul is the eternal, immaterial and spiritual dimension of an organism. Many cultures believe that the soul is divided into three parts: the Neschamah, the Ruach, and the Nephesch-each of these playing very important and specific roles in shaping the being in which they reside. The Neschamah is the free soul-the one that can travel and leave the body-as in astral projection."

"It's also the spirit form," Sam added, thoughtfully. "The part that can become trapped after death as what most people call a ghost"

The teacher nodded enthusiastically. "It is the most powerful and yet most vulnerable. If something happens to it-the person's body and other parts of his soul are weakened. Physical symptoms of disease can manifest and often lead to death."

"If there's three parts of the soul-do you think that's why it takes three days for the virus or whatever it is to run it's course?" Dean asked.

"Your father believed so. Monroe captures the Neschamah and then the rest happens naturally as if it were a typical illness."

"But how does he capture a soul?" Sheriff Landry asked.

Sam started to speak up, but ended up coughing instead. Dean put a hand on his arm and answered for him. "People have always thought certain objects could capture souls or parts of souls-like mirrors or cameras and photographs."

Wakeen sighed. "Soul sickness. My ancestors feared having their photographs taken. Even now some of the elders on the reservation will not allow it."

"So-Monroe takes pictures of people with a _camera _and captures their Nitsasomething?" Buck still looked baffled.

Sam cleared his throat, wincing at the pain it caused. "The camera is probably a power object." When the sheriff's brow wrinkled, the hunter added, "a regular object that's been enchanted, by a spell or curse."

"Lovely." Landry took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "Do you know what that's going to sound like in an evidence log?"

Wakeen flipped through the book again and pointed at a page. "Your father believed that a very powerful witch or sorcerer had cast a spell for Monroe using what he called- contagious magic."

"_Half a man made a deal sealed by death_," Dean repeated the first line of the prophecy. "It could definitely be talking about our favorite photographer."

Sam took another drink of the tea and nodded. "Monroe lost his family-that would have left him less of a person-half a man." Grief could strip a person down to the barest of elements.

"Hatred stole his heart," Wakeen agreed, "left him vulnerable to dark forces."

"He watched his father be killed by Geronimo-held him while he died," Sam said, remembering the first vision he'd had. A shudder ran through him. "It wasn't a pleasant death."

It was Dean's turn to look confused. "How do _you_ know that?"

"I saw it," he confessed, guiltily.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean growled.

Landry decided to break in before another brotherly disagreement could take place. "What about the second line? _In penance, five souls will be taken to shield her health_. It says her-is that the witch?"

"Dellacrois?" Sam offered. "It's talking about what she got from the deal."

Dean nodded. "Penance is an act of absolution. It was what Monroe had to do for her."

"Take the souls," his brother agreed hoarsely. "But why couldn't she do that herself if she was so powerful, and why would she even want them?"

"A shaman can trap souls only if they can leave the material world, because a soul is not bound by constraints of this realm," Wakeen explained. "Trying to take a soul as a mortal form would be like trying to catch rain with a sieve."

"So the old witch, Dellacrois, hired a phantom hit man?" Dean shook his head.

"Or created one." Sam sighed, not believing that he had part of the puzzle in his grasp all along. "She killed Monroe. That's why it was a deal sealed by death. She killed him in the apothecary shop."

"More telepathic Tivo?" Dean queried, without much heat-but hating the fact that his brother still felt the need to hide things from him.

Sam ignored him. "She didn't murder him-he sacrificed his life for his revenge," Sam suddenly felt sick to his stomach. The story was sounding way too familiar. "_An offer of blood to trap an enemy by hate._"

"He let her take his life-for what-a payback?" Landry shook his head, unable to comprehend the ramifications of what that could mean. "What good was that going to do him if he was dead?"

"He probably knew that Geronimo was near death also. Monroe hadn't been able to get revenge in life, so he made a deal to trap both of them here- until he could find a way to reach him."

"Kind of like when you broke my Nintendo?"

Sam frowned at his brother. "Did not."

"Yes you did. After Dad grounded you from playing it-the control mysteriously ended up broken." When his brother started to protest, Dean held up a hand to cut him off. "If Monroe couldn't rest in peace-then he'd be damned if Geronimo would get to either."

Sam was beginning to understand all too well, even though he could have done without the analogy. It had been Dean's fault he'd gotten grounded in the first place, after all. "A dark spell that powerful would require the shedding of blood on a big level." _As would the counter spell. _

"What kind of damn spell was she casting?" Buck demanded.

"Two spells," Dean replied and Wakeen nodded.

"She would have cast one for Monroe to keep Geronimo's spirit until he could seek his revenge-probably by using the contagious magic that Dad mentioned -and another for herself."

"A spell to shield her health." Sam looked at Dean, "Shield her health from what? Sickness?"

"From Death." Dean rubbed at his eyes. "Fuck-she was hiding from death."

"What?"

"Think about it Sammy. What's one thing that no one can escape-even if they are powerful."

"Nothing can protect you from death," Sam murmured, it all finally making sense. "The pentagram-that's what Geronimo meant."

"A pentagram?" the sheriff asked. "Like a pendant-the five pointed star thing?"

"A pentagram is a sign of protection. It's been used for centuries by witches, by religious factions."

"The five points of a pentagram represent the four elements surmounted by the quintessence-the Spirit." Wakeen explained further. "It is a very powerful tool to those who know how to use it."

"But not powerful enough to stop death?" Landry couldn't wrap his mind around it all.

"Not unless it was one fucking revved-up pentagram." Dean met and held Sam's mortified gaze, both of them figuring it out at the same time. "Dellacrois was one smart, evil bitch. Witches make their own tools, because they're more powerful that way."

Sam felt dizzy as if the room had started spinning and even the tea wasn't doing a good job of quelling his nausea. "Five elements-five souls." _Oh, shit_. "The souls make a _living _pentagram-that's why Monroe chose them for their connections to the elements. All these deaths are part of one huge protection spell."

"So you think this witch offered Monroe the ability to trap Geronimo here if he collected souls for her to shield her from death?" Landry didn't have to be a damn ghost buster to understand the depth of what they were saying-the ramifications of such a thing.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean swallowed hard. "But he had to die in the process."

"And she gets to be immortal?" Sam was still reeling from the idea that someone could create a pentagram from human souls.

"Sweet deal for her, huh?"

"So, you're saying that some 150 year-old lady is out there walking around my town? That's fucking unbelievable."

Dean ignored the sheriff. "Every fifty years he must have to renew his debt or else the spell would be broken."

"But that would mean I'm the last element. And we have no idea how to stop what's happening to me. If we don't do it now-it'll be another fifty years before anyone can stop her."

Dean looked at Wakeen. He'd be damned if they didn't stop her. "The rest of the prophecy-it talks about a sacrifice of love changing their fates?"

Wakeen nodded. "I can not tell you what that sacrifice would be."

"Can't or won't?"

Sam shot his brother a look. "What if we release Geronimo?"

Dean shook his head. "That may not change the spell for the souls. It just knocks Monroe out of his part of the whole sick arrangement."

"That would definitely piss Monroe off. He might not collect."

"That does make sense, but the die has already been cast," Wakeen looked sympathetically at the brothers. "Your free soul has already been captured, Sam. Now the witch must only wait for the final point in the pentagram-and she will be protected for another fifty years. While you-will not be so lucky."

Dean looked at the clock. It was after seven. "What time did Monroe take our picture?"

Sam frowned and rubbed at his eyes. "Around eleven."

"That just leaves us about sixteen hours."

"No matter what-we should free Geronimo." Sam couldn't explain it-but he knew it was important that they release the legendary Indian.

Dean stood up. "I'm going back to the photo shop. If we can find Monroe-then maybe we can find the witch. You were right before, Sammy, when you said she was the key."

"You can't go alone," Sam stood, but swayed once he was on his feet.

"Easy." Dean reached out to steady him.

The younger Winchester shook his head. "I don't feel right."

"It is the tea," Wakeen spoke up. "It has sedative properties."

"You drugged me?" Sam asked anxiously. He couldn't be sleeping on the job- especially with the visions he'd had about his brother.

Dean frowned at the old man, not liking the way he casually left that ingredient out, but understanding that sleep would be the best thing for his brother. "Sam-you need to rest. I wouldn't have taken you with me anyway."

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Dean. That's not how the team thing works."

"It is when half the team has one fucking foot in the grave."

"Oh, so you're Dad now-doing what you _feel _is best, no matter what anyone else wants. Giving me orders?"

"For crying out loud, Sam…"

"Boys!" Buck stood up. If he'd had a whistle he would have called for a time out. "How about I go check out the photo shop?"

Dean glanced at the sheriff and shook his head. "You don't know what you're dealing with. Monroe isn't some typical bad guy."

"I really don't expect him to be there," Wakeen spoke up. "His part of the deal will be complete. Now he will be focused on Geronimo. Watching and waiting for his next chance to take his soul."

"I can still check," Landry looked at Dean. "Maybe he left something behind. I'll look into Dellacrois also. If there was an unsolved murder, we should have information on it."

"It happened back in 1905. I really don't think it will register in VICAP."

Buck ignored the sarcasm. "I have hand-written logs. Tons of them dating back to the middle 1800's. My family has been the law in these parts for generations."

Dean relented. What choice did he have? "You'll call us as soon as you know something?"

"I ain't going to go up against some freakin' spirit by myself-if that's what you're worried about, kid."

"I'll stay with Sam until you call."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Make up your mind. Do you want me to stay or go?" Dean asked, angrily.

Sam bit his lip to keep from saying anything he'd regret. The room swam in and out of focus as feelings betrayed him and his eyes filled. Right now-all he wanted was for the fucking room to stop spinning. "I want this all to be over," he said softly.

Dean felt his own eyes sting and cursed his brother's ability to go right for his jugular. He bit the inside of his jaw to refocus his pain, and looked at Wakeen. "Is there a place he can rest for a while?"

Wakeen pointed towards a small hallway. "Through there. I'll make you both some soup. I'm sure you have not eaten in a while."

Dean nodded. "That would be good." He glanced at Landry. "In the trunk of my car there's a shot gun with salt rounds." He tossed him the keys. _Just ignore everything else illegal. _"Take it with you-just in case. It won't kill Monroe, but it will slow him down."

The sheriff nodded. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"We owe you."

"This is my town-I'd say we owe you and your brother."

Dean didn't reply, but merely took a miserable looking Sam by the arm and led him through the hallway to a small bedroom in the back.

"I'm not a child," Sam said petulantly, as Dean attempted to help him take off his jacket.

"Could have fooled me."

Sam glared at him, but didn't complain when Dean helped him onto the bed and began removing his shoes. Honestly, if he'd leaned over to do it himself, he'd probably be laying on the floor. "We need to figure out how Dellacrois is holding Geronimo, Dean."

"Well, we can do that just as easy in here as were doing out there."

"What if Dellacrois isn't here?"

"She'd probably have to return here to renew the protection. I don't think it would work any other way."

Dean grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the iron bed and draped it over Sam-ignoring the miserable look his brother shot him.

"I'm not going to sleep."

"Okay."

Dean sat on the edge of the bed. "You probably need to eat something anyway."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care."

A faint smile played at the corner of Sam's mouth. "This all seems familiar."

"That's because every time you got sick when you were little, I got stuck playing nursemaid to your cranky ass."

"I hate being sick."

"Yeah, well trust me, it's not a picnic from this side of the bed pan either, bro."

"I'm sorry what I said about you being like Dad."

Dean grinned. "Yeah- Dad would have just knocked you out long before now. Handcuffed you to the bed-and had me sit on you until he got back."

Sam watched Dean fuss with the blanket again. His brother looked worse than he did. Guilt was a hard cross to bare. "This isn't your fault-you know."

Dean looked everywhere but at his brother. Finally he sighed, and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Yeah, I know." _I know _you_ think that, little brother-but I know the truth. _He glanced up at Sam. "Do you think Dad will show up?"

Sam's heart gave a little start. His brother sounded so un-_Dean_ in that moment. So helpless. Like in Kansas. It was painful. "I don't know. If he said he would-then I'm guessing he does."

The older Winchester shook his head. "Yeah-Dad takes his word seriously."

Sam forced a smile. "For a top notch conman and hustler, he's damn loyal."

The tactic worked and Dean grinned again-a look of pride entering his green eyes and overshadowing the doubt that Sam couldn't stand. "Yeah-he's a real Renaissance kind of guy, isn't he."

Sam nodded. Dean needed to keep faith in something-to retain some sort of innocence-it didn't matter if their father deserved his blind loyalty or not. Sam wanted it for Dean.

"He'd be able to figure out what kind of hold Dellacrois had on our Indian friend."

"The contagious magic means he thought that Monroe had something that was bound to Geronimo- something powerful."

Dean nodded. "Yeah- but what?"

"A lot of times in black magic hair or finger nail clippings are used," Sam mused around a yawn. "Or articles of clothing or jewelry -like with a voodoo doll."

Dean rolled his eyes-knowing that his brother was going to bring that upagain. The smirk on his face was evidence that his brother was enjoying the fact that he once again got to bring up the ill-fated New Orleans gig. "Yeah-classic contagious magic."

"They used your necklace." Sam pointed the protection pendant he'd given his brother when they were younger.

Dean nodded, something nagging at the back of his mind. He suddenly stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and withdrew two black beads. "Damn," he breathed, staring down at the shinystones. "I almost forgot about these."

Sam raised up on one elbow to get a better look at what his brother had. "Where you get those?"

"At the inn, after our first encounter with Geronimo. And then at the homestead-before I saw the wolf."

"Geronimo was wearing a necklace made of beads like that both times we saw him as Wakeen."

"But I didn't see one on the old man. Did you?"

Sam shook his head. "It couldhave been a psychic projection- part of Geronimo's power- like the wolf."

"Maybe he was giving us a clue of some sorts."

"If Monroe somehow got a hold of Geronimo's necklace and if it was something important to him then..."

Dean finished his thoughts. " Dellacrois would have been able to use it to bind them together."

"Dad always said simple magic is the best- contagious magic is as basic as it gets. That's why burning of the bones is so effective."

"Could work the same way-if we can find the necklace-then we can free Geronimo."

Sam blinked- fighting the effects of the tea. "Maybe it's with Monroe."

Dean frowned. "That makes a sick kind of sense. He took a part of Geronimo to the grave with him."

"We just need tofind where he's buried."

"I think I know." Dean couldn't believe he hadn't thought it more important before. "The root cellar. Being buried where his hate all started would only add fuel to the fire."

"The root cellar where you fell?"

"Where the wolf put me," Dean corrected and then added, "the place where Monroe hid as a kid."

"Geronimo was trying to help us," Sam tried to sit up. "We should head over there. See if we can find it..."

Dean put a restraining hand on his brother's chest. "You're not in any shape to go anywhere, Sammy."

"But, Dean...,"

"No."

"You can't go alone." No damn way.

"I'm not going anywhere." When Sam finally relented and rested back against the pillows once more Dean removed his hand. "I'll call Landry and see if he can get us some man power."

Sam raised a brow. "I bet Morry would be willing to go on a ghost hunt."

Dean snorted. "If we tell him he can bronze the bones- then mabye."

The younger Winchester smiled but was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. "Promise me you're not going to wait until I'm out of it and take off?"

"I've never lied to you, Sam."

Sam seemed to accept that as an oath, and let his eyes flutter again before suddenly opening them once more, "And Dean-I'm sorry about not telling you about the visions. Really…"

"Don't sweat it, Sammy. I don't exactly make it easy for you when you do try to tell me about your freaky side."

Sam forced his eyes open once more at that admission. "Are we having one of those _Lifetime_ original moments?"

"No," Dean answered, quickly. "So, don't even think about trying to tell me how much you care about me again, because I will knock your ass out."

Sam laughed lightly, his eyes drifting shut again. "Too late -I think Wakeen beat you to it."

Dean didn't reply and in only moments his brother's breathing evened out and the lines of pain on his face relaxed some. Dean put a hand on his forehead, frustrated that the fever was still raging. It was amazing that Sam was still coherent.

He let his fingers run through Sam's hair, something he hadn't done since his kid brother was-well-a kid. Things had been so much easier then.

Dean had complained about it, but if the truth was known, their Dad hadn't _made_ him take care of Sam when Sam was sick or hurt. He hadn't even had to suggest it. Dean had simply needed to do it- like climbing into his baby brother's crib every night to watch over him.

It had been an instinct. Second nature.

_A willing sacrifice_.

The words echoed in his mind and Dean blinked-looking around the room to see if perhaps Wakeen had entered unnoticed.

But he was alone.

With Sam.

Dean indulged himself and pushed more damp locks from Sam's face before finally relenting the contact and getting up from the bed. He went to the window and looked out at the now star-filled sky.

The last line of the prophecy floated through his mind, and he let his head rest against the cool glass pane.

"I'll do anything to save you, little brother. Whatever it fucking takes."

Chapter 11-Coming Soon


	11. Chapter 11

Negative Effect

Chapter 11

"_Regard your soldiers as your own children and they will follow you into the deepest valleys. Look on them as your own sons and they will stand by you-even unto death."_

_- Sun Tzu, The Art of War_

The room was cast in shadows. One lamp had been left on by the bed, bathing its sleeping occupant in soft light.

Sam looked so young and vulnerable.

It stole his breath.

The weary hunter stopped at the foot of the bed and tried to reign in his emotions. It was a well-honed skill. One he often took pride in-and one he could sometimes feel ashamed of. Tonight, it would be needed, though. There was no room for a mistake.

John Winchester eased his tall frame onto the mattress and laid his hand against his youngest son's face. "I'm here, Sammy."

"Dad?"

The deep voice brought John's eyes from Sam to meet Dean's surprised gaze.

His other son was standing in the doorway framed by the light flooding in through the small bathroom he'd just exited. He looked tired and older than his twenty-six years.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean stepped closer to the bed, sitting a bowl down that he'd just filled with cool water.

The oldest Winchester smiled at his son. "It's good to see you too, Ace." And it was-so good to see him, both of them. Even under the strange circumstances.

Dean frowned at the man. Relief at seeing his father alive and whole was warring with the anger and frustration that had been steadily building over the last six months. This wasn't the reunion that he'd expected. "Better late than never."

"I was tied up in a job when I got Wakeen's message. I was sure you and your brother could handle things until I got here."

Dean tilted his head, trying to discern if there was any of the usual recrimination in the words. It didn't matter either way. He had enough self-directed blame for the both of them. "Oh, we handled it all right."

John sighed, and his eyes went back to his youngest. "How's Sammy doing?"

"It's _Sam,_" Dean corrected, with a boldness that surprised even him.

The oldest Winchester nodded. He'd expected the anger. Was damn sure he deserved it. "I came to help, son."

Dean looked incredulous. "Help? Where the hell was your help six months ago? Or even a few days ago before I blindly drug him into this mess? Couldn't you have mentioned the whole spell thing and the virus-or curse?" _Of course, that would require an actual conversation. _

John raked a hand through his dark hair, feeling the beginnings of a familiar argument. He and Dean had an understanding. Dean would understand anything his father did unless Sam was effected in any way negative- then Dean wouldn't stand for anything. "We can talk about the past-or we can try to help Sammy."

"You could have helped him a week ago, " he replied with really no heat. After all there was really no point arguing about things that were already set in stone. That was more Sam's area than Dean's.

As Dean had expected, his father ignored the comment and brushed the hair back from Sam's sweat-covered brow. He bent low enough to whisper something into his son's ear that Dean couldn't make out, before glancing at his oldest son once more. "How's he doing?"

Dean suddenly felt like an intruder, and it pissed him off again. If John thought he could swoop in and relieve him of duty- he was sorely mistaken. After all he was the one who took care of Sam all these years- not John. "How do you think he's doing? He's dying, damn it."

John looked up at Dean, letting his hand slide from Sam's head. He sighed heavily. "You don't look so great yourself, kiddo."

How could the man be so calm? Hadn't he heard what Dean had said? Sam was dying for crying out loud. "The only problem I have is that I screwed up." He had to swallow back the lump that had suddenly sprung to his throat, as his eyes began to sting.

He'd be damned if he'd show that kind of weakness in front of his old man. "I didn't protect him, so you can yell at me all you want, but what I really need is for you to help me find the witch that's causing all this and stop it. I don't know what to do anymore."

John shook his head, a deep frown marring his handsome face. "I wasn't going to yell at you, Dean. You've done all you could."

"Which isn't enough."

It was like talking to a brick wall. "I know you and you're brother have tried. What _have_ you done so far? Did you find out who the Soul Collector was?" John picked up the wash cloth from the basin that Dean had sat on the nightstand and after wringing it out, brushed it over Sam's forehead.

"Yeah. You could have just given us that little tidbit of information, you know." _This wasn't some freakin' training exercise-or was it. _Dean finally took the chair near the bed-watching his father tend to Sam in a way he hadn't witnessed in years. He rubbed at his stiff neck. "We also found out what your prophecy said. Thanks for writing it in Apache by the way."

John looked at him and a ghost of a smile flittered across his rugged features. "I wanted a connection to Wakeen."

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes at his old man's love of puzzles. _A name and address would have done that. _"We figured out the part about the elements and that Monroe and Geronimo are locked here because of Monroe's hate."

"Hate's a powerful thing." John looked back down at his youngest son and sighed. "Especially when it's born from love."

He moved his eyes back to Dean. "That's what gave the spell such strength, you know. The two most powerful forces on Earth. Love and Hate. Yin and Yang."

Dean frowned, recognizing his dad's Yoda speak and knowing there was a purpose behind it. _Somewhere. _"We figured that this Marguaritte Dellacrois cast a spell tying them here to this plane of existence."

John nodded. "I never knew who the witch was or what she was after. I couldn't find anything linking Monroe to anyone but the old apothecary-who disappeared when he died. Honestly- I didn't try that hard. After I found no presence of spirits of any kind, I moved on."

Dean didn't feel it necessary to point out that four people had died-and Sam was the next in line, thanks to his father's so-called moving on. "Sam and I found a book at Monroe's old homestead. It was a book of spells. It had her name in it. We're not sure of anything, but we think she probably _was_ the old apothecary."

John dipped the cloth back in the cold water, and continued to try and cool Sam's temperature. "That would make sense. Apothecaries often dabbled in magic."

"But this is more than dabbling, Dad. This is some dark stuff. A spell like I've never seen."

"Did you two figure out what the spell was for? Other than binding Monroe and Geronimo?"

"To hide her from death."

John froze. He looked at Dean. "That's not possible, son." Not once had John encountered an immortal-despite what the legends said. He'd known people to get lucky-even be guarded in their life-like Geronimo. But in the end everyone faced their own demise.

"Apparently it is. She used the souls-five victims each time, each one representing the elements- to build her one hell of a powerful pentagram."

"My God," John shook his head. "She'd have to be desperate-and determined."

"She'd have to fucking crazy."

John frowned at his son, and Dean was surprised when a reprimand about his language didn't flow from the man's pursed lips. "Well, no matter what she is, every spell has a counter spell, Dean. No matter how potent it is. Remember-yin and yang."

Dean shook his head. "I know that." He didn't need his father treating him like a damn amateur. "The whole last line of the prophecy," he held the other man's gaze, "the sacrifice thing."

John didn't flinch at the word-although maybe Dean had wanted him to. "Monroe sacrificed himself for hate."

"The counter would require a sacrifice of love."

Dean was waiting for his father to object-to offer an alternative, but instead he stopped what he was doing and turned more to face him. "The witch took his life in a specific way, with a specific tool. Everything would have been purposeful, planned."

"Sam said that Monroe was stabbed."

"Athame," they both said at the same time, but John continued on alone.

"It would have been one she made herself-that way she would have had a binding to Monroe. A control. The counter would have to use the same tool, in the same place."

Dean looked down at the floor, quiet for a moment. So many thoughts were swirling through his head. It was surreal walking back into the room to find his father with Sam-their father that they'd searched the country over for during the last six months.

And now his brother was dying-and he had to put together some stupid counter spell that required a sacrifice of blood. _My blood. _The thought brought his eyes back up to his father's-seeking something that he couldn't give a name to.

"What do I need to do, Dad?" _Please. _

John recognized the determined gaze that had alighted in the green eyes. Of course, he had expected it-the total commitment to his brother. _I counted on it. _But it still hurt, and perhaps that's why he missed the hint of something else reflected in the moss colored pools. "You need to find Dellacrois."

"You think she's still here?"

"I think she'd have to be in close proximity when the last soul was collected."

Dean nodded. "I thought so, too."

"Monroe is bound to this town. He can't leave here." John was sure of that. "Geronimo is vulnerable on the anniversary of Monroe's death. Once the pentagram is in place and the witch is safe-then Monroe gets another chance to exact his revenge."

"What does he want?"

"He wants to take Geronimo with him."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "To Hell?"

John shrugged. "To wherever Monroe has been existing all these years. We create our own personal hells, son. He wants revenge. That's all that matters."

"Sam thinks its important that we release Geronimo first."

The older hunter glanced at his youngest. "Sam would."

Dean felt his anger flare up again at the condescending tone in the oldest Winchester's voice. "His instincts have saved my life on more than one occasion."

"Then you should listen to him."

Dean started to open his mouth to defend his brother again, but his father's words sunk in and he just stared at the older man. "I should?"

John smiled. "Between the two of you-you've usually got it all covered."

Dean's brow furrowed-unsure if his father was laying a trap for him to stumble into. "You told Wakeen that Dellacrois used contagious magic to trap Geronimo?"

"Objects that have been in touch with other objects or with people can wield great power to harm someone."

"We think it's a necklace that Geronimo owned."

John nodded to the pendant that hung from Dean's neck. "We've witnessed that first hand. If it is-then you need to find it and either return it to Geronimo, or destroy it."

_Return it to Geronimo. _Dean took a deep breath and tried to ignore the slight look of amusement in his father's eyes as he was sure he was remembering his plight in New Orleans. "I have some people working on finding Monroe's body. We think he may have been buried with it."

His father frowned. "You shouldn't involve outsiders, Dean."

"I can't do everything by myself." _No matter what you expect. _"I couldn't leave Sammy alone." _If you'd been here-I wouldn't have had to ask for help. _

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"What difference does it make?"

"It makes a world of difference, son. Trust me."

"I won't leave him like…," Dean started, but the sad, knowing look in his father's eyes stopped him cold and he changed his words, "…I don't want to leave him."

Dean felt his eyes fill, and was more than surprised when his father's hand came up and rested on his cheek.

John used his thumb to rake away the one lone tear that slid down his oldest son's face. "I know you don't, Dean." _Believe me, I know. _Dean didn't know how to disappoint Sam-but he'd have to learn.

Dean straightened up and took a shaky breath. Now was not the time to lose it. "How do I find, Dellacrois?"

John pulled back from his son. The fiery determined gaze had once again overshadowed any weakness. "What do you know about her?"

Dean shrugged. "Not much. Like I told you-Sammy and I found her book. We think she was the apothecary."

"Have you ran a records check on the old apothecary shop? I didn't check the title to see who owned it now."

"There is no apothecary shop, Dad. Sam and I have been all over this town. There's not a lot to this bustling metropolis."

John's brow furrowed in confusion. "But you're staying in it, son. The Rest Inn was the old apothecary shop."

"What?"

Dean's mind filled with images- beginning with the night that Geronimo had tried to block their way into the place.

The old inn was full of antiques and paintings and in the main room there was a mantle filled with objects. _Objects_ that he should have recognized. He had been so blind.

David had told them on their first night there as he'd checked them in that Maggie had owned the inn forever-Dean had just never thought that he meant _literally _owned it forever. "Damn it!" he swore and stood quickly to pace the floor.

Sam actually stirred on the bed and mumbled something in his sleep and John rested a hand on his chest. "What? What's wrong?"

"I think I know who the witch is." _Nobody has that many damn cats in one life time. _

John raised a brow. "Who?"

"The old lady who runs the inn-Maggie-as in Marguerrite." God-was it that simple?

John tried to put the pieces together himself. "I never met the owner. She was out of town when I was here in New Hope."

"How convenient," Dean bit out. Shit. The woman had doted on Sam. Sending him food up to their room, fixing him his favorite breakfast. She knew all along that he was Monroe's last victim. "I can't believe I didn't figure it out!"

John stood up from the bed and placed a restraining hand on his son's shoulder and forcing him to stop his frantic pacing. "Take it easy. You had no reason to suspect her. I wouldn't have." _Hell, I didn't even think about it. _

Dean glanced over his father's shoulder to the window. A pink glow cascaded through the glass-warning of dawn's approach.He frowned. _How can it be morning already? _The younger hunter shook his head. "We're running out of time. We have to find her. Make her reverse the spell."

"She'd be at the Inn-where it all started."

"Then let's go." Dean reach for his jacket that was tossed on the chair. He glanced at Sam. "We only have a few hours."

When John didn't move, Dean looked at him. "What are you waiting for? I'll have Wakeen stay with Sammy."

"Dean-you need to be careful. Monroe won't let this happen easily, nor will Dellacrois. It's not a situation where you can just rush in and kill something, son."

"We'll salt and burn Monroe."

John shook his head. "I don't think that'll work. He's linked to Dellacrois."

"So-we'll kill the bitch. She's human."

"And she's protected, Ace. If Death can't reach her-then neither can we."

"Then what the hell am I suppose to do-let my brother die. 'Cause that's not an option and you know it."

"_You _have to reverse the spell, Dean."

"But…," Dean held the man's gaze, knowing that they both had known the damn truth all along. They both had a choice to make-and the ironic part was that neither of them were willing to let Sam die. They'd always agreed on that much. _No matter what the costs. _

"You need to hurry. You're brother's growing weaker." Dean frowned and looked at Sam who was still sleeping. He hadn't noticed any change, but his father seemed more desperate than he had moments before.

His heart sped up and his eyes went back to John's "You're not coming."

John reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "You need to have a little faith in your old man." _Don't give up on me yet. _" And you need to do one more thing, Ace."

Dean swallowed hard, and his voice betrayed him with it's slight tremble. "What's that?"

"You need to wake up."

Dean jerked awake, nearly taking a header off the side of the bed, where he'd apparently fallen asleep beside his sick brother. He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath, jumping again when a hand rested on his back.

The hunter rolled over and met the anxious, concerned gaze of his kid brother.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

"Sammy," Dean breathed, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn't stop himself as he reached out and ran his hand over the younger man's hair. "You're finally awake."_ Thank God._

Sam coughed and then frowned. "You were calling for Dad."

Dean shook his head, not about to go into the whole dream or whatever the hell it was with Sam. He pushed himself to a sitting position. "Nightmare. That's all. I'm good." Okay, so maybe Sam really _wasn't_ the only freak show in the family. Dean suddenly felt like Dorothy after her return trip to Kansas.

Sam sighed tiredly, wincing as if the act of breathing hurt. "Good, 'cause I feel like crap."

"Crappier than before?" Dean took a good look at the younger man. Even in the soft light of early morning, he could see the dark circles under Sam's eyes. His skin was pale and it still held an unhealthy sheen of sweat. The big brother in him instantly registered the drawn lines of pain creasing his brother's young features.

To Sam's credit, he forced a half smile. "Much crappier than before, Doctor."

Dean frowned, remembering the conversation with his father. "Too crappy to help me kick the Wicked Witch of the West's ass?"

"You know who she is?" Sam struggled to raise himself up, and with a little help from Dean, managed the monumental task.

"You ever heard the expression-hiding in plain sight?"

Sam nodded and Dean shrugged. "Apparently it works."

Chapter 12 Coming Soon.


	12. Chapter 12

Negative Effect

Chapter 12

"So Maggie is the one who cast the spell? That nice old lady is the witch?"

"Told you that old people could be devious."

Sam shook his head disbelievingly and shivered as more chills wracked his body. He was huddled in the passenger's seat of the car, bundled in his brother's jacket and a blanket that they'd borrowed from Wakeen- but the cold still seemed to find him. "I should have known."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Because of all the cats. Right? They are usually a witch's familiar."

"No." Sam shrugged. "Because of the pancakes. Nobody cooks that good unless they've made a pact with the Devil."

Dean glanced at his brother with a slight shake of his head and then back to the road. "That would explain some things about Emeril."

Sam started to reply when his brother's cell rang. Dean grabbed it and answered, "Yeah?"

"_Whoo-weee, boy. Do you know how bad a body can still smell after a hundred years?"_

Dean looked at Sam and rolled his eyes as he mouthed-_Morry. _"I take it you found our boy."

"_Well, what's left of him. He's not exactly in the best shape. As soon as the air hit him-well things started to fall apart." _

Dean could almost imagine the freaky Santa Clause clone holding a phalange or an ulna and looking rather guilty. "_See people didn't use the state of the art embalming techniques that I, myself,…" _

"Morry," Dean cut the man's speech off, "just look around and see if you see anything in there with him."

"_Like what?" _Morry actually sounded kind of concerned. "_You ain't expecting any of those beetle things to come out are you-damn I hated that Mummy movie…"_

Dean sighed. "Like a necklace, Morry. It would be made of beads and stone-it should have survived relatively intact."

"_Artifact hunting?" _Dean cold almost imagine the excited gleam in the big mechanic's eyes. _"Always did fancy that Indiana Jones fella."_

"Yeah, well, if you can find that necklace, Junior, I'll buy you a whip of your very own."

Sam shot his brother an amused look, and Dean merely shrugged.

After a long moment, the mechanic's voice boomed on the line again. _"I'll be damned," _Morry whistled loudly and Dean winced. _"Smack my ass and call me sweet baby."_

Dean tried to quickly erase the disturbing images that Morry's words conjured. "You find it?"

"_I got it. It was still around old man Monroe's neck. Pulled it right off-head and all."_

_Nice. _"Good. Bring it to the Rest Inn as soon as you can."

"_No problem."_

"And Morry?"

"_Yeah?"_

"You wouldn't happen to have any salt and lighter fluid lying around-would you?" Dean knew his father had said that destroying the bones wouldn't help-but what would it hurt.

The big man laughed. _"I've got some embalming fluid."_

"Is it flammable?"

"_Hell yes."_

"Then that'll do."

Morry's deep laughter rumbled through the phone. "_You are just a kick in the pants, Winchester."_

After instructing Morry on the finer points of corpse burning, Dean cut the connection and cast an anxious glance to his quiet brother. "How you holding up, man?"

"About the same." Sam rested his head against the seat and raised a brow. "You know, Dean, if this thing doesn't work out, you could take Morry on the road with you."

Dean shook his head and tried to smile. "He does seem to take to it-huh? Bet he wouldn't be complaining all the time either."

"Yeah."

"Nah, I'll stick with you, little brother. I have a feeling Morry isn't exactly house trained, and the scent of grease and formaldehyde is not my favorite aroma." Dean grinned. "Besides, he'd be wanting to stuff and mount all the big game."

Sam smiled. "Maybe Dad could use a partner."

At that Dean did laugh. "They do have the whole mechanic thing in common too-a match made in heaven."

A sudden coughing fit killed the light mood and Dean reached out to squeeze his brother's shoulder. "Hold on, Sammy. We're almost there."

Sam shook his head, his eyes watering from the strain. "It's almost nine, man. We don't have a lot of time left." _I don't have much time left. _

As if on cue, Dean's cell rang again. He frowned and reluctantly let go of his brother to answer it, bringing his eyes back to the road. "Yeah?"

"_You're not going to believe what I found out, kid?"_

"That not only is your creepy Kodak crusader a soul-sucker, but that the little old lady who runs your inn is an immortal Witch with an axe to grind? Your town has issues, dude."

Sheriff Landry sighed loudly across the connection. _"You know Maggie owns the Inn and that it use to be the apothecary shop?" _

"Crack police work, Andy. But yeah-I figured it out."

"_I still don't know if I believe in all this or not."_

"Well, it's not like you're wearing ruby slippers, dude. It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. It's real."

"_Then you want to tell me what we're going to do about it, because I just don't see me getting a warrant for Maggie on the premise that she is the undead."_

_Actually she's immortal-totally different than a zombie…but. _"Where are you?"

"_I'm in Phoenix. I had to come up here to find the records I needed. Seems all of our copies of the deed for the Rest Inn had mysteriously disappeared. You wouldn't believe the fucking strings I had to pull to get this place opened up in the middle of the night."_

"How long until you can get here?"

"_About an hour or so-depending on traffic."_

That would work.

Dean glanced at Sam, who now had his eyes closed. "It may all be over before you get back, but swing by and pick up Wakeen and meet us at the Inn." _Sam will need someone. _

"_What the hell do you mean it will be over, Winchester? What are you going to do?"_

Dean shut the phone and Sam opened his eyes and looked at him. "Bad connection," he lied. "Landry's going to be a little delayed."

"Then it's up to us."

Dean nodded. "Captain Onehelluva Big Brother and Geek Boy ride again."

"We're a good team," Sam mumbled around a heavy sigh.

The older hunter cast another worried glance at his brother, who seemed to be drifting off. "Stay awake, Sammy. I need you conscious on this one. I'm tired of pulling your weight."

That did the trick. Eyelashes fluttered, and Sam shoved himself straighter in the seat. "When have you ever pulled my weight, jerk?"

"Oh, just about every time we've ever hunted together, bitch." Dean smiled to take away the sting.

"Funny then, that you usually end up in trouble when I'm not around."

"Well, if I'm not rescuing you-I've been known to let my guard down."

"So-I keep you sharp?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess." _Or maybe if you're not around-I just don't give a flying fuck. _

"Well just remember I'm right beside you on this one-even if I'm not a hundred percent." Sam stared at his brother. "No being careless or dropping your guard."

"I'm on this one, Sammy. We're going to take Dellacrois down."

"And how exactly are we going to do that?"

"We're going to reverse the spell."

"And this miraculous dream that you had told you how to do that, too?" Sam looked skeptical. "Sense when did you put such faith in anything you couldn't taste, touch, or kill?"

An image of their father flashed unbidden to Dean's mind. "This dream was just different."

"Different how?"

Dean frowned and shot his kid brother an annoyed look. Sam could pick the most inconvenient times to have poignant discussions. "Forget the dream, Sammy. We need to concentrate on Dellacrois. She'll probably be expecting us."

Sam nodded, thoughtfully. "Because we disturbed Monroe's grave."

"Technically Morry did-but I'm guessing Monroe's not too happy about it, and has probably reported back to his pit boss by now."

"You said there were things at the inn-witch things?"

"Yeah, besides the kitties, there was a whole mantle in the main living room. Crystals, wooden cups, a scepter and an athame."

"Why would she keep stuff like that out in the open. Shouldn't she have had an alter?"

"Keep up here, Geek Boy. Remember the whole in plain sight thing. The woman didn't have anything to hide. She had no clue who we were-what we do. No one else would have recognized them. Hell-I didn't even really notice them until Dad…" Dean stopped himself suddenly and then tried to cover his blunder, "until something Dad once said came back to me."

"What was that?"

"Something about witches liking to keep their power objects close to them." It was the first thing he could think of, but Sam seemed to buy it.

"So, you think Dellacrois might have actually used the same athame you saw on the mantle to kill Monroe."

"It was her connection to him. I don't think she'd get rid of it."

"That's risky."

"Not a lot of people out trying to reverse her spell, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "Not a lot of people willing to let someone kill them to save someone else's life." He suddenly glanced at his brother, as if he were slowly just putting all the pieces together. "_How_ exactly are we going to break her spell, Dean? A counter would require an acting out of the exact original with one core difference." _Love would replace hate. _

"We'll figure that out when we get there."

Sam swallowed back a slight rush of panic as memory of his earlier visions scratched painfully at the edges of his mind. "Remember-you already promised me that you wouldn't do anything stupid."

"I'm not going to do anything stupid, Sammy."

Later, Sam would recall that he should have asked Dean to describe his definition of stupid. "How long do you think it will take Morry to get here?"

"The homestead is a lot closer to the inn than we were out at Wakeen's. Hopefully, he won't be far behind us."

"Are we going to destroy the necklace?"

"No." Dean looked at his brother. "We're going to give it back to Geronimo. Well, actually, that will be your job. Just wait for my signal." Everything would have to be perfectly timed.

"What? My job?" Sam's brow furrowed. "What's your job?"

Dean was glad that they suddenly found themselves entering New Hope because he didn't have the answers that his brother wanted. For once, he wasn't quite sure of anything. And that more than scared the hell out of him. He didn't like leaving things up to chance, but the circumstances left him no choice. "We'll take the shotguns and rock salt for Monroe."

"And Dellacrois?" Sam couldn't understand why his brother was dismissing the threat that the old woman represented. "She's more than likely a crone, Dean."

"Hey, I won't argue with you there, little brother."

"You know what I mean-a third stage witch. Not a maid, or a mother, but a crone-all knowledge and power."

"Yeah-just once I wish we'd bag a maid-all naïve and sexual."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Focus-Dean. Focus."

Dean grinned at him. "Thinking about sex keeps me focused and motivated."

"Like humming Metallica calms you down?"

"Yeah."

"You are warped, man."

"I just use whatever works."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, "Winchester rule number five."

Dean had to swallow back the small lump that sprung to his throat as he turned onto the cul-de-sac that would lead them to the Rest Inn. His heart picked up speed and he cursed the sweat he could feel slicking his palms where they gripped the steering wheel of the Impala. "You ready?"

Sam did a quick mental scan of his body-not liking what he found. He'd be lucky to get out of the car without assistance-let along be of much help to his brother. But he'd do his damnest to hold on. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Dean nodded and shoved the car in park. He reached for the door handle, but stopped and looked back at Sam. "You know, Sammy…I …I want you to know…," he stumbled over the words, cursing his inability to express something so simple. _Why is it so damn hard to tell him how I feel?_

Sam watched the look of complete discomfort pass over his brother's face and he knew what he was struggling to say. Emotions could bring Dean to his knees quicker than a punch ever could. He couldn't stand to watch him suffer. "I know, Dean. I'm not going anywhere any time soon-you can be repressed for a while longer. It's okay."

The older Winchester watched his kid brother let him off the hook once again with his attempt at humor and a flash of dimples. He inwardly winced. Sam deserved better. "Let's go then."

Sam was surprised that his shaky legs held him as he followed his brother around to the back of the car and was able to take the shotgun without falling over.

Dean must have been just as unsure of his ability to remain upright, because he grabbed his wrist and squeezed it. "You going to be able to stay with me?"

Sam shook his head slightly to clear the fog trying to creep over his senses like a black cloud. "I'm good."

Dean grabbed his own gun, his cross bow and his Dad's journal. "Yeah, we're both good." _Just fucking peachy. _

They had started for the steps when the familiar and unmistakable thunder of a Harley Davidson could be heard in the distance. The older Winchester stopped and shot his brother a slight grin. "Morry, the mortician's, here."

"Taxidermist," Sam corrected, and couldn't help but to shake his head as the big beast roared into view. Morry would not be easily forgotten.

The mechanic killed the hog and eased himself from the saddle like a cowboy who'd just caught several members of the notorious James' gang. "Winchesters," he slid his helmet off and grinned at the brothers as he took in the weapons and the twin looks of determination on their faces.

"Morry." Dean nodded, and slung the shotgun over his shoulder. "You got something for us, big guy?"

Morry stuck his gloved-covered hand into his leather, fringed vest pocket and pulled out a the beaded necklace, that Sam and Dean instantly recognized as the one they had seen on the astral projection of Wakeen. "This thing magical?"

Dean took it and raised an eyebrow at the older man. "You believe in magic, Morry?"

The mechanic scratched at his silver beard, which was now braded into a long silver rope. "I didn't think I did-until something came screaming after me when I tried to take that thing off the property of that old homestead."

Sam and Dean shared a look. "It let you get away?"

Morry shook his head. "Damndest thing-I swear this huge white wolf came out of no where and jumped in between me and whatever the hell it was."

Dean snorted and shook his head. "Now, Morry, everybody knows wolves aren't indigenous to this part of Arizona."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Are you okay, Morry?"

The old man laughed. "Yeah, wolf or not, it gave me enough of a distraction to get away. Burned asphalt and gravel like the hounds of Hell were snapping at my tail pipe. Haven't had a rush of adrenaline like that since I got a hold of some…," his face reddened and he quickly looked around them, "it was exciting, that's for sure."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we know that feeling ."

"You boys need some back up?" Morry nodded to the weapons. "I was in Nam."

"We appreciate it, Morry, but we can handle it from here."

The old man nodded and slung his leg back over the Harley. "I understand," he looked severely disappointed but slid his helmet back on. "It's a family thing."

"Something like that," Sam replied.

"Good luck to you, then," he winked at them and kicked the big bike to life. "Give'em hell, boys."

Dean and Sam nodded and watched as the Harley kicked up dust and sand as it tore off. "We owe him a round of tequila when this is over."

Sam sighed. "Dad would not like how many outsiders we've involved."

Dean nodded, "Don't I know it." He turned towards Sam and before his brother could protest, slid Geronimo's necklace over his head, letting his hand rest on the white carved wolf dangling from the end. "No matter what happens-don't take this off until I tell you to. Got it?"

Sam frowned at him and Dean gave him a little shake. "Got it, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, and his brother slapped him lightly on the cheek. "That's my cupcake."

The younger Winchester sighed. Not only was he creeped out by the idea of wearing something that Morry had just torn from a dead man's neck, he wasn't at all comfortable by the idea of wearing something that bound him to a dead Indian. "But Dean…,"

His brother had already turned away, and as usual wasn't listening to any protest. "It won't save you from the curse," he tossed over his shoulder, " but I'm betting it will keep the witch away from you. It'll keep you safe." Dean wasn't sure why he knew that-but he did.

"But what about you?"

Dean grinned. "Women can't resist my charm, Sammy. I'll have her eating out of the palm of my hand."

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to release some frustration and ease the dizziness threatening to bowl him over. Dean was already on the porch before he reached the second step.

Without waiting, the older hunter kicked in the front door like some bad episode of Cops and barreled headlong into the unknown. There was a loud crash and a muffled curse of pain that Sam instantly recognized.

"Damn it," Sam swore and picked up the pace. What he found when he entered the old inn caused his heart to speed up and he sucked in another deep breath.

Dean was crumpled against the far wall, not moving- and Jebidiah Monroe had Dave pinned against the reservations desk. One of his bony hands was wrapped around the poor kid's throat. Monroe's other hand held a letter opener, which was precariously perched directly over Dave's heart.

"We were expecting you, Fire." The old man glared at Sam, his eyes glowing red with hatred and menace. His lustful gaze went to Geronimo's necklace and he smiled- his yellow teeth gnashing together. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Chapter 13-Coming Soon(Finally the confrontational climax is next-weird that it ended up on such a lucky number.) Ridley laughs maniacally.


	13. Chapter 13

Negative Effect

Chapter 13

_They love too much that die for love. -John Ray_

"Give me what is mine, boy!" Monroe gave Dave a hard shake and the teen's terrified eyes sought out Sam's, pleading with the hunter to do something.

"I'd listen to him if I were you." The voice was feminine and in too close of proximity to his brother for Sam to ignore- despite all his instincts to never look away from his enemy.

Maggie, better known as Marguerrite Dellacrois, stood mere inches from Dean and she was holding his brother's crossbow.

Her features were easily recognizable as the genial seventy year old hostess that they had met that first morning in New Hope, but the years had amazingly slipped away- revealing a much younger woman in her thirties, at the most. The gray hair that had been curled in a tight bun, was now black and shiny and hung past her shoulders. Cloudy, brown eyes were now sharp and clear, and resembled rich honey. She could have been Maggie's daughter.

Sam imagined that the weaker he grew-the younger she would become and soon she could easily play the part of the inn keepers granddaughter. And when the spell was complete her youth and vitality would be restored to her for another fifty years. A real sweet deal-as Dean would say.

"I'd hate for your brother to bleed all over my nice wood floors, but I will sacrifice the clean-up if you don't lower that crude weapon and return the necklace to Mr. Monroe."

The young hunter swallowed hard and blinked, trying to fight off another wave of dizziness. He felt his body sway as if a sudden wind had gusted over him, and his weakness elicited a cold smile from Dellacrois. "Don't fight it, my dear. Your time is near. You don't want to waste your brother's life because of silly pride-now do you."

Her finger tightened on the release mechanism and Sam quickly lowered the shotgun. "I thought you'd see things my way."

Sam had watched helplessly as Margurerrite had forced Dave to drag Dean's body into the sitting room. Then she'd instructed Monroe to tie the kid to a chair in the corner-where the reservation clerk now sat gagged and wide-eyed. The young hunter guessed he was probably in shock, but his concern was focused totally on Dean, who had yet to stir.

Monroe was near the fireplace holding the necklace of Geronimo's and watching the clock as if by will he could bid time to speed up.

Sam only wished he could wield it to slow down.

Dellacrois sat in a golden Queen Anne chair by the door, watching him like one might anticipate the basting turkey on Thanksgiving Day. She still held the crossbow at the ready and to Sam's horror, Tapioca, the center piece that Morry had skillfully crafted, was now curled, purring in her lap.

Apparently the spell reversed time for everyone bound to Marguerrite.

The younger Winchester was still contemplating the idea of reanimated pets when Dean finally stirred. Sam put a steadying hand on his brother's chest and couldn't help the relieved smile that spread across his face when Dean finally opened his eyes.

"'Bout time. I thought you were going to miss all the fun."

Dean winced in pain and brought his hand up to gingerly probe at the back of his head. "Sammy? What the hell hit me?"

Sam slipped an arm around the older hunter's shoulder and helped him sit up, propping him against the couch. "A wall."

"Nice," Dean grumbled, taking a quick stock of their situation. His eyes fell on Dave and then Monroe. He glanced back at Sam, and instantly glared at his brother. "I told you to hold onto that necklace, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, well, it was a choice between it or you. Believe it or not, I didn't even hesitate."

Dean held his determined gaze for a moment. "You look like shit."

The younger hunter shook his head. "You're welcome."

Dean's gaze went to the clock on the wall and he swore. "Damn it," he hissed, keeping his voice low. It was after ten. "We're running out of time here." They were far enough away from Monroe and Dellacrois for their conversation not to be heard, but the witch continued to watch them with an amused smile.

"You're telling me," Sam slumped back against the couch. "I...don't think I'm going... to be able to stay awake much longer, man."

Dean reacted to his brother's slurred words immediately, his own pain and sluggishness shoved to the background. "Don't say that, Sam. It's not over yet."

Sam shook his head slightly and smiled. "Dean-did you not see the hot chick in the corner?" His brother was not one to ever overlook a pretty woman-no matter the circumstances.

His brother looked at the witch. He'd seen her already, and had quickly put two and two together. "Yeah. I saw Supernatural Botox Bitch and Zombie Cat-what's your point?"

"My point is-she's just waiting for her next injection, big brother. That would be me-or my soul, anyway."

"Well, she's not going to get it."

"Dean-nothing stupid, right?"

"Right." Dean looked back at Monroe. "We've got to get that necklace."

Sam laughed, wincing as the movement seemed to set off tiny explosions of pain in his aching head. "And how do you plan on doing that, Merlin? I have a feeling that he's not going to just hand it over."

"Then we'll just take it."

"Right," Sam sighed, wearily. "I forgot that Captain OneHelluva Big Brother and Geek Boy can out run speeding arrows and easily overpower a freaky corporeal poltergeist. No problem."

Dean was staring out the window to the right of them, and Sam had to nudge him to be sure he was still listening. "Did you hear me, Dean?"

Dean absently patted his knee, still watching the window as if he'd saw something. "I heard you, Geek Boy. You just gotta have some faith."

Sam started to reply when a loud scratching noise echoed through out the quiet room, resonating above the crackling of the fire.

A ferocious feline growl erupted from Tapioca and the mass of fur slipped from it's owner's lap to stalk off down the hallway in the direction of the front entrance of the inn. Other dormant cat's suddenly came to life and emerged from around corners and leapt from furniture to follow in it's wake.

The scratching continued and a high pitched canine whine now joined it.

"Someone's trying to interrupt our fun," Marguerrite hissed, shooting her ghostly accomplice a glare. She stood and handed off the crossbow to Monroe. "Watch them, while I take care of it."

Monroe nodded, stepping closer to the brothers, the necklace swinging like a pendulum from his right hand. He grinned at Sam and pointed the crossbow at Dean. "I haven't captured one quite as powerful as you in a long time. Most of them are in a coma by now. Maggie will enjoy what you'll bring to her."

"Shut up," Dean growled, inching his body in front of Sam's, blocking Monroe's view.

"Must be hard to lose a brother…," Monroe's gaze was now on Dean, something akin to pity alighting his dark eyes, "…to watch him die while you can't do anything about it."

Dean felt the his brother tremble behind him, and knew it had nothing to do with Monroe. "Why don't you tell me," Dean spat. "You held your daddy while he bled to death in your arms. Sucks-doesn't it?"

Monroe reacted as if the hunter had punched him. He flinched but then stepped closer- his temper flaring, which was exactly the reaction Dean was hoping for. "You don't know anything about me! Or my pa."

"I know you wanted revenge for your family," Dean held the man's fiery gaze, "I can understand that much about your sorry ass."

"But you took it a step farther," Sam spoke up from behind Dean, following his brother's lead. His voice was weak but it still garnered Monroe's attention. "You crossed the line when you couldn't exact punishment on Geronimo. You sold your soul to trap him here-all out of hate."

"I loved my family!" Monroe shouted. "They were all I had. Maggie helped me avenge them."

Sam shook his head sadly. "What you did had nothing to do with love. It was twisted and ugly, and full of grief. Those things can't survive together."

"And Maggie helped herself," Dean added, with disgust. "Do you really think she gave a damn about your pain? She saw a way to use you for her own benefit."

"That's not true! She is helping me get to Geronimo. I will have him this time."

"No you won't," Sam gasped, as a pain tore through him. He looked up at the clock. Ten minutes were left.

Dean felt his frustration and worry building as his brother fought with the pain trying to pull him under. He wanted to kill something-anything, but resisted his murderous impulse, knowing that patience was the only thing standing between his baby brother and death. "Sam's right. Why would Marguerrite let you get Geronimo? If she did-then who'd collect her souls for her next time around?" Dean shook his head as Monroe started to waver. "You've been a blind fool."

"No!" he screamed.

"You sentenced yourself and all the other people you hurt to a lifetime and beyond of pain," Dean added. " All for nothing. You'll never get Geronimo. And you'll never see your father or your family again where you're going."

Monroe inched closer, his anger vibrating through every muscle in his body. The crossbow quivered mere inches from Dean's face. "And where might that be, boy?"

"To Hell."

"And you're going to send me there?" Monroe aimed the arrow at Dean's heart.

The older Winchester shrugged. "No-_he_ is."

A growl and a snapping of teeth had Monroe whirling around to face the white wolf and it was all the distraction that Dean needed. He grabbed for the necklace and at the same time used the momentum of his body to topple he and Monroe over the oak table behind them.

They hit the wooden floor with a bone-jarring impact, but Dean managed to keep his grip on the beaded pendant. Wrenching it away from the struggling Monroe, Dean sought out his brother. "Sammy-catch!"

Sam struggled to his knees in time to catch the necklace, but Dean's inattention had cost him. Monroe swung the crossbow like a club, landing a blow to the young hunter's face.

Dean cried out and Sam tried to stand. "Dean!"

The older Winchester rolled away from Monroe and spat blood onto the floor, before yelling at Sam. "Give the necklace to Geronimo, Sam! Now!"

Monroe grabbed Dean by the back of the shirt and slung him effortlessly against the wall, before turning his gaze to Sam. The younger Winchester looked at his brother and then to the necklace in his hand. _Give it to Geronimo? _He didn't understand.

"Navarre, Sam!" Dean said, as he struggled to his feet. "Navarre."

Monroe swung the crossbow to cover Sam and was about to pull the trigger, when Dellacrois rushed breathlessly back into the room.

"No! You fool!" she screamed. "You can't kill him. If the sickness doesn't take him, we will not have his soul."

The photographer hesitated unsure of what to do. The white wolf inched closer to the youngest Winchester and Sam dropped to his knees, quickly sliding the beads over the animal's head.

The room was momentarily filled with a blinding light and Monroe screeched in fury as the wolf turned from Sam and leapt through the window, sending shards of glass and wood scattering over the grass and bushes below. A burning oil lamp fell from the window ceil, skittering across the wooden floor, coming to rest beneath the curtains before it burst into flames.

An orange and red blaze raced up the drapes, licking at the old wooden walls behind them.

"No!" Monroe screamed, realizing that any ties he had held to Geronimo had just been released. "You!" He rounded on Dean, who had just managed to get to his feet. "YOU did this!"

Dean watched helplessly as the photographer raised the crossbow. The only thought that entered his mind as Monroe's finger tightened on the trigger was that he hadn't been able to save Sam- but then something flashed behind Monroe.

At first, Dean thought it might be Dellacrois, but then the form solidified, and he had to blink to be sure of what he was seeing. A young Indian brave stood behind Monroe. His eyes met and held Dean's for only a moment, before he wrapped his arms around the unsuspecting photographer, and both spirits disappeared in a burst of flames.

It was Dellacrois who yelled this time-realizing that she had also been robbed. Monroe was no longer in her grasp. "No! This is not suppose to be happening!"

Coughing drew Dean's mesmerized gaze from the circle of ash that now stood where Monroe just had.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

Sam was crawling towards him, staying low to the floor. The curtains were already completely engulfed and one side of the wall was blazing.

Dave was mumbling wildly beneath his gag from the other side of the room, and all Dean could think of was time.

Time was almost gone.

The clock's hand was at five of eleven.

And Marguerrite was glaring at him, as if he was center and cause of the whole chaos.

Good. That's exactly what he wanted. _Come and get me, Witch._

"Guess you'll have to find another hit man, huh, sweetheart?" Dean nodded to the livid woman. "Or you won't be seeing that pretty face again in another fifty years-well unless it's in a photograph."

The witch shrieked, and her eyes darted to the mantle beside them. She lifted her arm and the jewel encrusted athame flew from the shelf to her hand.

Dean held his breath, his eyes not wavering from Margurrite. He heard Sam yell his name. He was aware his brother was trying to make it to his side. _Come on. Just do it already._

And Dean stood firm, as Dellacrois flew at him and the hot blade pierced his heart-and Sam screamed his name.

Pain tore through the older Winchester in a blinding flash, stealing his breath with it's intensity, but he stayed on his feet.

Dean grabbed the witch's shoulders as she buried the knife deeper in his chest, and pulled her body close to his. The hunter's blood poured over her hands, stained her dress, and Marguerrite Dellacrois smiled, as she twisted the blade.

Dean grunted in anguish, but his hands tightened are her narrow arms, and his lips brushed against her ear. He whispered, with his failing breath, "My.. life..for his..."

Even through the consuming agony, the hunter felt the witch tense, and then her body trembled in the instant that she realized her mistake.

She jerked away, pulling the blood-covered athame with her and Dean couldn't stop the cry that was torn from him.

He fell to his knees but kept his pain-filled green eyes locked with her shocked brown gaze. "Release... my... brother! Release them all."

"No," she gasped, bringing her blood covered fingers to her lips. "You couldn't have," she whispered, dropping the knife to the floor.

Suddenly, she held her hands out in front of her and watched in morbid fascination as they began to wrinkle, and her fingers gnarled.

Monroe had offered his life to her to trap Geronimo, and now this boy had given his to release his brother. "It can't be," she cried, bringing her hands once more to her perfect porcelain face. She howled as she felt the deep furrows and sagging folds of skin consuming her beauty.

And Dean smiled, blood covering his teeth, "That's right…," he coughed, "you're melting, Bitch."

"Dean!" Sam finally made it to his brother.

And the clock stopped.

It's hand resting one minute beyond eleven.

Maggie backed away from Dean, nearly stumbling over an ottoman in her rush to get away from his bleeding body, but she couldn't escape his blood-it stained her hands, her clothes, her soul.

Marguerrite Dellacrois' could not out run her fate.

Nor could Dean Winchester.

The room shifted and the hunter felt himself fall forward. He would have hit the unforgiving floor face first if his brother hadn't been there to catch him.

"Dean!" Sam caught his wounded brother in his arms, and guided his body to the rug.

Dean could feel Sam's frantic hands on him now, turning him over, tugging at his shirt to get to the wound. He blinked, trying to stay long enough to say what needed to be said.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam was whispering over and over again, between choking coughs. "It's okay. You're okay."

The smoke was getting thicker. Dean could hear the snap and crackle of the flames as the consumed more of the room. "Sammy-stop." Dean pushed at his brother's hand as the younger man used his own shirt to try and stench the blood flowing from Dean's chest. "Just…stop...Get...out...of...here."

"I have to stop the bleeding, Dean," Sam rasped, continuing to apply pressure.

It should have hurt, but Dean supposed he was beyond feeling pain-the physical kind anyway.

"Sam!" He demanded, and a destroyed dark gaze finally lifted to meet his. "It's...over. Stop it."

Sam opened his mouth, and then closed it. Tears fell from his eyes. "You promised me," he finally sobbed. "You promised you wouldn't do anything stupid, you bastard."

Dean forced a smile. "It was a choice... between you or me." _Believe it or not, I didn't even hesitate. _"Smartest thing... I ever did."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his fists in Dean's shirt. "Damn you!" he yelled. "Damn you for doing this." There was so much blood-Sam couldn't stop it. "You're so fucking stupid-thinking you can control everything." He opened his eyes and looked at Dean. "You going to let an old witch do this to you?" To us. "My brother...," he choked, "he wouldn't go out like that."

"Sammy…" Dean didn't want it to end this way-he needed his brother to understand, "…you're my brother…and…"

Sam's eyes snapped open and he glared at Dean-daring him to toss his own words back at him. _Don't say it. Don't. You're not going to die for me. No Damn Way!_

Dean swallowed hard, fighting for each breath now. He lifted his hand-seeking out Sam's that was still fisted in the front of his shirt. He covered it- his cooling blood settling between their skin like cement, and smiled. "I love you, Geek Boy."

"Don't do this, Dean," Sam begged, seeing the sad, knowing smile on his brother's face. He let his forehead come to rest on their entwined hands. "Please!" Hot tears fell from his face and his body was shaking. "I'm sorry. You're not stupid. You're the best brother I could have. You're my family- I love you. _Please_."

Sam was suddenly freezing- even as the fire raged around him.

Cold?

Why was he so cold?

Sam raised his head-the sudden realization jolting him out of his misery, and though Dean's eyes were still looking at him-his brother would never see Sam again.

"Dean?"

The connection he had always taken for granted was gone. That invisible thread that tethered him to his brother had vanished leaving a gaping crevice in it's wake, and the youngest Winchester couldn't stop shaking.

And Sam knew. "No," he whispered.

His brother was dead. "No!"

A loud crash echoed from the hallway, and then he heard raised voices.

But not the one voice that mattered. "Dean?" Sam rested his free hand on his brother's face.

_That_ voice was silent Forever lost to him-echoing only in the most bittersweet of memories

"Dean?" Sam felt his brother's cold fingers slide from over his other hand, no longer sheltering him. And the irony tore at ever fiber of his being. "Wake up, Dean. Please, wake up." He couldn't accept it. _This can't be happening. This isn't how it's suppose to happen. _

"Sammy?" The familiar voice had his head reeling and him spinning around to face his father.

At first relief flooded through him, as years fell away and a little boy's belief that his daddy could fix anything slipped through the tough veneer of reality.

"Dad-Dean's hurt. Help him. Do something!"

How many times had he said those words, or similar ones-only to have John rush in and patch his brother up-save the day. No matter what had transpired between father and son, John Winchesterwas the dragon slayer from his childhood dreams, and the untouchable wizard who could concoct potions that could do anything.

Anything- but turn back time.

"We've got to get out of here, son." John wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders and tried to pull him from Dean's side.

A flashback from his vision of the cliffs in California stabbed through his mind and Sam pulled back in pained realization. His father wasn't here to help him save Dean. He was here to tear them apart-to take his brother from him.

"No!" Sam pushed weakly at the iron-like grip. "I won't leave him."

"Sammy-he's gone." John's eyes finally went to his eldest son. "The spell is broken."

"What?" Sam shook his head, coughing as more smoke settled around them. How did his father know about the spell? Realization crashed down around him. "You!" He slammed his fist into his father's chest. "You knew that this would happen! You planned it...you...caused this."

John grabbed both of Sam's hands and shook him. "Listen to me-we all have to get out of here before it's too late." The older hunter understood Sam's grief-shared in it-but there wasn't room for it. Not yet. Hopefully not for a very long time.

Sam blinked back more tears as he glanced to his older brother's lifeless form and then back to his father's dark eyes. "In case you missed the dead body-it's too late for Dean, Dad. For your son!" Sam spat. "For my _brother_, you bastard!"

"Landry!" John shouted, and Sam noticed for the first time that the sheriff was there. "Get my son out of here."

"We all need to go, John. Morry got Dave out. This whole place is going to go." Buck reached down to grab Sam and despite his struggles the weakened hunter was no match for the burly law man. "Let's go kid."

"I hate you!" Sam shouted at his father as he was drug from the burning inn. "I fucking hate you!"

John blocked out the pain that his youngest son's words inflicted and bent down to lay his hand on the side of Dean's head. Images of him as a baby and the sweet boy he'd been rushed into his mind, and he ran his hand through his son's hair. Finally, he shook off the influx of emotion. Getting back to business, John reached up and closed his son's eyes, and then put a hand on Dean's chest before saying a quick prayer to anyone who still might be listening to him.

He grasped the protection pendant that his son wore religiously-the necklace that his brother had given him- and closed his eyes He spoke the words that the white wolf had brought to him in a dream softly and swiftly. When the final phrase passed through his lips he felt a surge of energy run through him and he snapped the pendant from Dean's neck, holding it tightly in his hand. _Old magic-simple magic-is the best. _

John quickly pulled his boy close to his chest, allowing himself only a moment of weakness as his cheek brushed against Dean's too-cold face. He blinked back the tears and glanced across the room to where Maggie Dellacrois' sat curled by the mantle where the flames were already hungrily nipping at her dress hem.

Her haunted, empty eyes met his and John's face set in grim lines.

"Burn in hell, witch," John whispered as he lifted Dean and stumbled through the fire.

Chapter 14-Coming soon.


	14. Chapter 14

Negative Effect

Chapter 14

A/N: The reviews have meant so much. Thank you for continuing to follow this epic along. The end is in sight-and never doubt, it will be a happy one. I can't do tragedy, and I won't let Will influence me. BG.

A/N/N: I felt odd using a real character in this story. So, I felt it necessary to say that although Geronimo is not fictional-everything I have conjectured about his motivations and actions is purely my imagination and was manipulated for the story's structure. Not like I could actually channel him or anything for his permission or take on the whole legend. Okay-read away.

Dean Winchester had never died before. He'd come close-but that only counted in horse shoes. So, he wasn't sure what he was suppose to be feeling-if anything at all.

When it had first happened, the hunter had felt pain from the knife wound, and then emotional turmoil as his mind dealt with the fact that he was leaving his brother behind. The regret that he'd turned an invisible corner and there was no going back, was overwhelming and consuming. But it was the not knowing that was most frightening. That and the letting go.

Because Dean Winchester was nothing if not a fighter and a survivor.

But more than that, he was first and foremost a big brother. Sam's big brother. And that overshadowed everything. Including his will to live.

It was true that Dean had his doubts about the whole after life thing, but when it came down to it, everyone wanted to believe that there was something beyond the mortal life-something better. Even realistic-_give me the hard cold truth_-Dean Winchester wanted to believe he would at least encounter _something_.

Something more than restless spirits with unfinished business. Anything besides nothingness.

And even though slipping away had seemed a great deal like merely falling into a deep sleep-Dean hadn't expected to feel the tug of awareness, like one might whenwaking up.

But that's exactly what it was like.

Like emerging from a long, restful nap.

There was no pain and no fear. And no blazing fire or pit of lava-like his mind had conjured on more than one occasion.

He could feel hot breath against his cheek and something soft, and warm nuzzled his ear, and for a brief moment he was sure all his illusions of Heaven had some how been right on the money-a tropical paradise full of Victoria Secret's angels awaited him. Damn, he hoped they stocked beer.

Then something rough and wet slid across his face, leaving traces of drool in it's wake and the young hunter forced his eyes open in a slight panic.

A warm brown gaze met his and for a moment his mind flashed to another pair of pain filled eyes-the memory stealing his breath away with its intensity. _Sam. _

But then his blurred vision cleared enough to make out the white fur and black nose, and thoughts of his brother disappeared with a groan. "Oh, man-not again."

"Welcome, Mountain Lion."

Dean pushed against the dirt covered ground he was lying on and struggled to face the direction that the voice had come from.

Directly in front of him a warm fire danced in the darkness, sending little bits of orange and red glowing confetti into the air, and beyond the light show sat the young Indian that Dean had seen at the inn. The spirit who had taken Monroe. _Geronimo. _

He appeared to be close to Dean's age- his youthful face full of sharp angles and sculpted features. His long black hair fell past his shoulders and a white feather hung from one braided piece. The only thing reminiscent of the phantom astral projection of Wakeen was the fierce ebony eyes and the beaded necklace that lay against this man's bare chest.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, finally recovering enough to push himself to a seated position. He looked around them and faintly recognized the barren landscape as a place he'd visited before-perhaps in a dream. "Where are we?"

"As I told you on your last visit here. We are no where, yet everywhere."

Dean frowned, and tried to grasp at the faint memory of actually having been to that exact spot. It came to him in a flood of insight that he suspected wasn't his own, and he realized that he _had_ dreamed of this place or had some freaky vision of it when he'd fallen through floor of the old Monroe homestead. "Dude-don't mess with the dead."

The young man across the fire from him smiled. "To put it in terms you might understand-this is a type of in between place."

Dean's heart sped up-which was ironic considering he was pretty sure that particular organ had stopped for good. The familiar words teased at yet another memory. His mother had told him about the in between place as a boy-but he seriously doubted that Mary had this in mind.

Still, he looked around the darkness-almost expecting to see her smiling face.

"She is not here." Geronimo motioned around them, obviously reading Dean's thoughts as if they'd been spoken out loud. "This is a plane not for the living or the dead."

"You're here. I'm here." Dean shook his head. "Pretty sure we fall into that latter category."

"Our souls have not yet moved on."

Dean frowned, looking down at his chest. There wasn't a mark on him. "Why is that exactly?"

"I was trapped for many years. First by my own hate-then by the hate of my Enemy."

"Yeah, yeah-I saw that movie." Dean sighed and motioned to himself. "And me?"

"Love holds you here."

"I don't understand."

"Your brother-you are under his protection." Geronimo lifted the black beaded necklace with the white wolf carving that he was wearing. "A power object-your father calls it. You have one also."

"The protection charm?" Dean's brow furrowed, and he glanced down at his chest again-expecting to see the familiar amulet that Sam had given him as a birthday present so many years before. But it was gone.

And he suddenly felt cold.

His hand went to his heart, where the metal amulet usually rested. "I never take it off."

"Mine was taken in death also." Geronimo touched the smooth carved bone that made up the representation of his spirit guide. "But not by those who cared for me."

"By Monroe."

Geronimo nodded. "Or someone working for him. Perhaps the evil shaman, I'm not sure."

Dean assumed the evil shaman was Dellacrois. "She used it to bind you to Monroe."

"As your father used your power object to bind you to your brother."

Dean still didn't understand. The necklace was special to him-but not because it had supernatural qualities.

Again Geronimo scavenged his thoughts. "The amulet was made powerful by your brother's feelings for you-as mine was made powerful by my feelings for my enemy."

"Hate is a powerful force," Dean muttered. John had said as much in the dream that he'd had of his father.

"But love is more so. It is what allowed you and your brother to set me free, and the others, too." Geronimo nodded to the darkness around them. "Now-Navarre and I can return to our ancestors."

The wolf whined, thumping her tail on the ground at the sound of her name.

"We will never be able to thank you enough."

Dean was glad that Geronimo was going to be able to return to his family, but it wasn't the reason he'd given his life. That had everything to do with Sam.

"No matter your motivation-you have proved yourself worthy, Mountain Lion."

Dean frowned again, and pointed at his head. "A little privacy, please."

"There are no barriers on this plane, hunter. We understand one another perfectly. You need not speak at all if you do not wish."

"I wouldn't underestimate my ability to still have difficulty understanding you-barriers or not. I'm still not clear on the whole proving my self thing?"

Geronimo looked amused, but smiled patiently. "It means that you sacrificed yourself for someone else. You gave your life willingly, and unselfishly-with no regards for the harm that would befall you. You are honorable-unlike many of your ancestors."

"Yeah-sorry about that whole land thing-and the Small Pox fiasco. I'm not even sure Custard was human, so…"

Geronimo held up his hand and frowned. "You still have a lot to learn-but you show great promise."

"I'm still not really following you here."

Geronimo stood, walked through the fire and came to sit in front of Dean. "Do you know my story, Mountain Lion?" he asked, once he was cross legged in front of the hunter.

Dean shrugged, still a little freaked by the man walking through the flames. "Some of it."

"My family was murdered by the white man. I did not know which ones-but in my mind they all became the same-the _Evil_ that had to be destroyed."

"Yeah. That sounds familiar." _For several reasons. _

Geronimo nodded. "Your father is the same as I once was."

When Dean didn't object the other man continued. "You see, hunter, when I found my family dead, I went to my Grandfather, the great Shaman of our village, and I learned the truth."

The Indian's wording was not lost on Dean.

"I learned that there were things beyond the eye that could empower me, and help me exact revenge. The Shaman told me that he had dreamed of the things I would do-great and terrible things-that would bring many eyes to me. He gave me this necklace and said that it would bring me power and protection-that I would be invincible and immortal."

"The stories say bullets went right through you-like a ghost."

Geronimo smiled sadly. "I was a ghost."

"Half a man." Dean thought about the passage in the prophecy. Maybe it didn't refer just to Monroe.

"You are smarter and wiser than you think, young hunter. Smarter than myself-wiser than your father."

Dean frowned, and shook his head. "You don't know my father."

"I know that he hunts out of revenge. He hunts to destroy that which robbed him." Geronimo made a show of raising his arm into the air and clenching his fist tightly. He brought it roughly to his own chest. "I hunted out of revenge-to destroy. We are the same-your father and I. Driven by the desire to kill."

"I hunt, too," Dean said defiantly. "I'm a part of it-just as much as he is."

"You do not hunt for revenge, Dean Winchester." Geronimo lifted his other arm, his palm open this time, and placed it against Dean's chest. "_You_ hunt out of love."

The young hunter's brow furrowed. "I think you've been hitting the peace pipe a little too freely there, Chief. I don't love anything about the monsters we hunt."

Geronimo held both hands up, one still clenched into a fist, the other open. He covered his fist with his open palm, gently curling his fingers over his closed hand. "No-you hunt because you love your family-not to seek revenge. You are driven by a desire to protect them and others-not a desire to destroy."

An image of Sam clutching his shirt as he lay bleeding on the floor flashed through his mind. He had covered his brother's hand with his own, blood smearing both of them. Dean swallowed hard. "I do love my family." _I love my brother. _

"And I loved _my_ family, " Geronimo sighed. "But I chose a path that took me away from them-not closer to them."

Dean thought about his father, and the way he changed after Mary's death. "The same path my Dad took."

The Indian nodded. "Your father was a good man, as I like to think I once was. Now he is a powerful man. _He_ is capable of great and terrible things."

Unspoken words hung between them, but Dean could see his own deepest fears reflected in Geronimo's ebony eyes. "And Sam?"

"He is powerful also- like your father." Geronimo held the hunter's gaze, "And he will grow more so as your battle wages. Although he unwillingly hunts because of the same thirst for revenge-he is luckier than myself and the warrior John Winchester."

"I don't understand." That wasn't the answer he had wanted. Dean had busted his ass his whole life to protect Sam from their father's fate.

"He has you."

"I don't know if that's any rare prize. I don't have any great power-or gift to offer him." _And besides- now I've gone and got myself killed. _

"You have power, hunter. Not like the ones that your brother has been given, but a gift just the same. It is the same gift that your mother had."

Dean rubbed at his eyes-suddenly weary. _Dead people aren't suppose to get tired. _"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sacrifice."

Dean frowned. As far as he understood, the whole sacrifice card could only be played once. Well-twice for their mom. But Dean didn't really see himself doing the whole spirit thing.

"My mom's gone-and now…" _I've left him, too. _It was the first time Dean had doubted his decision. "Now he's alone." _Well-except for Dad._

"Your father and your brother love each other-but neither know how to meet the other half way. They pull and push and in the end no one wins. Both are merely bruised and battered."

"Yeah. They're a lot alike." And completely different. Dean was all too aware of his father's and Sam's issues. He'd been caught in the middle of that tug of war battle many times-feeling a lot like the invisible line drawn in the sand.

"Sam won't turn out like my dad-will he? He'll be okay?"

"Sam will do great things, but only because you will be there to see that he does. You will keep him from getting lost."

Dean shook his head. "But I'm not there anymore."

"We are going to change that."

The young hunter raised an eyebrow. "We are?"

Geronimo nodded and removed his beaded necklace from around his neck. He placed it over Dean's head. "This necklace gave me invincibility-the chance to avenge my family. I do not need it anymore. But now I give it to you-to heal your wound-and to give you the chance to _save _your family. I promised your father as much."

Dean's brow furrowed. "I'm going back?"

Geronimo smiled. "You never left."

After a moment, Dean nodded, accepting the freakiness for what it was-an obvious part of his life now. He lifted the necklace and then grinned at Geronimo. "Dude-does this mean, I'm like really invincible now?"

Geronimo laughed. "I wouldn't try to stop any bullets-if that is what you mean."

Dean sighed, and let the charm drop against his chest once more. "Gotcha-one time use only. Like a condom."

"You are a unique one, Dean Winchester."

"I've been told that before."

The Indian nodded. "Safe journey-my friend."

Dean smiled. "Same to you." He glanced at the wolf. "And you too, Lassie."

Navarre barked, and Geronimo closed his eyes. He placed his hand over Dean's heart, his fingers curling lightly over the white wolf and whispered words that Dean didn't recognize.

Suddenly a sharp pain raced through Dean's body and he felt himself falling, as the ground opened beneath him and empty space swallowed him whole.

The landing was hard and his body seemed to bounced with the force of the impact.

He felt a pressure building in his lungs and then an intense aching across his ribs.

Dean gasped as breath suddenly seemed to rush into his chest cavity and every nerve ending in his body sparked to life-almost like he'd been struck by lightning.

"Dean?" A warm familiar hand rested on his cheek, and Dean tried to force his eyes open, as the awkward task of breathing seemed to demand all his attention at the moment.

"Sammy?" he whispered, finally convincing his eyes to cooperate and he wasn't quite sure if Geronimo had been the dream or if he was still trapped in one long looping nightmare. Maybe that was his private hell.

"_Dad_?" Dean blinked and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he was now looking up at the concerned face of his long-missing father. "Are…you real?"

"I'm real," John smiled, relief flooding through him. He ran his hand over his son's hair. "How you doing, Ace?"

Dean took a moment to take stock of his situation. His eyes were burning, his throat felt raw and it hurt to talk. There was a dull throb in his chest-but nothing hurt like it had before…before he'd died. The hunter's hands came up and covered his heart. No hole-no blood-nothing, but a phantom ache where the fatal wound had been. "Dad-what's going on?"

The younger Winchester tried to sit up, but his father's hands quickly restrained him-holding him in his supine position. "Easy."

"What happened?" Dean pushed weakly at his father's grip, his struggles bring a round of coughing.

"You took in more smoke than a chimney is what happened," The booming voice of Morry the mechanic had Dean's watery gaze swinging his way. "You weren't breathing. You're ticker had stopped, too." The big man grinned. "I've mounted animals with more life in'em than you had."

Dean closed his eyes, and tried to regain his breath. "Nice bedside manner you've got there, Morry." Green eyes fluttered open again and found John, with a slightly panicked glaze. "Where's Sammy?"

"He's with Sheriff Landry." John wasn't entirely sure where his youngest son was. He'd locked gazes with Sam as he was exiting the burning inn. Sam had been restrained by Landry, and he looked ready to bolt back into the house the first chance he got-that was until he saw his lifeless brother.

Volunteer firemen had swarmed John then and he'd been more concerned with Dean's state of well being, than Sam's state of mind. Honestly, he'd thought his son would have been hovering right behind him.

"Is he okay?" John hadn't even realized his eldest was speaking to him again , until Dean's hand wrapped in his jacket. "Dad-are you sure he's okay?"

"He's fine, son."

"But…" Dean looked down at his chest and back to his father, "…the spell?"

John smiled. "Was broken."

"I know," Dean frowned. "I was there, but..."

John held up his hand and glanced at Morry, who was currently concentrating on trying to take Dean's pulse. "Morry-could you give us a minute?"

The mechanic looked reluctant. "I'm not suppose to leave the victim until transport arrives."

"Victim?" Dean looked at the man again-noticing for the first time that he was dressed inturnout gear and a bright yellow hard hat. "You're a fireman?"

Morry grinned widely. "Volunteer fleet. And I be damned if you didn't give me my first four-alarmer, Winchester." The big man patted Dean roughly on the chest. "Not to mention my first resuscitation. I'm beginning to feel as giddy as a virgin at the prom around you , kid."

Dean's eyes found his father's gaze and he whispered roughly, "Please tell me Morrry, the multi-faceted, did not give me mouth to mouth."

John hid his smile behind a well-timed cough. "I was in charge of compressions."

"Did a damn good job too-for an amateur." Morry smiled in approval.

The younger Winchester closed his eyes and groaned. "Said the taxidermist."

"You are a hoot, kid." Morry pushed himself to his knees, and glanced at John. "The ambulance should be here anytime. Bowie is just a hop, skip, and a jump from here, but I don't think he's going anywhere."

"Thanks, Doc." John watched as the big man made his way to where the other volunteer fire fighters were still trying in vain to contain the blaze.

Dean opened one eye and glared at his father. "_Doc? _You do realize you let a mechanic work on me-your first born son-right?"

John grinned. "Somehow that seems appropriate."

"What the hell happened, Dad?" Dean struggled to sit up and this time his father helped him-keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder in case he toppled over.

"Magic," he replied with an enigmatic shrug.

"I was dead." Dean wasn't going to let it go that easily.

"Technically."

"I don't understand." He was saying that a lot lately and it was really beginning to piss him off.

John wasn't sure he understood it all himself. He reluctantly let go of his son, and reached into his pocket, pulling out Dean's necklace. "I used a binding spell, and a few words from your friend, Geronimo. When I crossed over the door of the inn, something happened-and when I got you outside-the knife wound was gone." John ran a hand through his hair. "You still weren't breathing." _Scared the shit out of me. "_But it only took you a minute or so to come around."

"A binding spell saved me?"

His father shook his head, knowing it wasn't so simple. "No." He handed the necklace to Dean. "Your brother saved you. You saved each other."

Dean tightened his fingers around the pendant, and raised a brow. "Where is Sam? Are you sure he was alright?"

"He was okay." _Okay enough to let me have it._ But it was odd that he wasn't as his brother's side by now.

John looked over his shoulder, and noticed that Landry was talking to the kid that Morry had pulled from the fire. Sam was no where to be seen. "Landry pulled him out."

Dean looked towards the crowd of people off to the side of them-searching for the familiar tall form with shaggy hair-that he could place anywhere. "You haven't talked to him?"

"We talked."

Dean recognized the set of the jaw, and the dark tone. "Since my miraculous recovery? Right?"

John turned back to face him. "No. I was focused on you."

_That's a change_. "Did he know…I mean…did you tell him about the binding spell?" Dean was starting to feel panic build. Surely Sam still didn't believe him dead.

John was beginning to realize his mistake. "I didn't think he'd go far."

"Damn it!" Dean swore and tried to push himself to a standing position. But once he was vertical the world conspired against him and had the audacity to tilt on its axis. "Son of a bitch."

John caught him before he could fall. He could hear the wail of sirens in the distance, announcing the late arrival of the Bowie EMTs. "Hold on a minute, Dean. The paramedics are here. Let them check you out."

"No way!" Dean shook his head, but didn't have any such luck shaking off his father's grip. If the man was waiting for a 'yes, sir', he was going to have to wait on hell freezing over. "I'm going to find Sam."

"You can't even stand up!" John pointed out.

"Then I'll crawl," Dean shot back, trying to right himself enough to at least look intimidating.

"Right," John ignored his son's foolish bravado and waved the medics over.

"Are you injured, sir?"

"No. My son is."

"I am not," Dean insisted.

The paramedics exchanged looks. The soot covering Dean and the way he swayed when his father released him, said other wise. "Perhaps, we could just check you out, son. You look like you've had a rough night."

"That's because thisone here is your DOA that I called in," Morry informed the two men as he joined them once more.

The young EMT with the red hair glanced at his partner and then to Morry. "DOA means Dead on Arrival."

"I know that," Morry looked insulted. "He was _dead_ when I arrived."

Again the paramedics shared confused gazes.

"I brought him back," the mechanic explained proudly. "Snatched him from the clutches of death-I did."

"How long was he unconscious?" Red asked.

"He wasn't unconscious, son. He was dead." Morry tossed an arm over Dean's shoulders, giving him a rough shake. "He didn't have a pulse and he wasn't breathing. Trust me-I know dead."

The two obviously _knew _Morry, or had at least heard of him, because the older paramedic with the gray hair smiled at Dean. "Good thing old Morry didn't decide to gut and stuff you on the spot, son. You might have ended up mounted on the fire station wall, like that cat he tried to rescue out of old man Gentry's tree."

"Very funny, Hayes," the mechanic huffed. "Wait until that heap you call a car breaks down again."

Hayes ignored Morry and placed a hand on Dean's arm. "Let's get a look at you, son."

Dean pulled back. "I'm good." Dizziness still assaulted him, but the young hunter tried to push it away, and straighten himself to his usual 6'1 stature.

"Dean." John glared at his son. "Do what they say."

His father didn't say it was an order, but Dean recognized the tone and bristled. "I'm going to find my brother."

After one step though, his weakened legs gave way and the coughing fit he'd been holding off, overpowered him. "I'm not…going…to the hospital." He couldn't go to the hospital because he had assaulted half the staff there.

The medics eased their patient back to the ground, and John frowned. "They'll decide if you need to go or not."

"But Sammy…" Dean winced as unfamiliar hands poked and prodded.

"I'll take care of Sam."

_Sure you will._ "You don't even know…where he went...and," Dean coughed again, suddenly unable to finish his thoughts. _He won't listen to you. _

"It's a small place, Dean." John looked at the paramedic who was struggling to get the oxygen mask on his son. "Take care of him."

The older man nodded. "We'll be taking him to Bowie."

"Dad?" Dean pushed the mask away. "Find him. Please."

John nodded. "I will, Dean. I promise."

For some reason that didn't offer Dean the comfort he was seeking. His father meant well, and Dean loved him-but promises weren't the man's strong suit.

"Now Dean," Morry was suddenly beside him, taking his attention from the oldest Winchester. "I need to know if you saw any bright lights or heard the voice of God."

Dean only stared at him, and the mechanic smiled. "You see I'm thinking about writing this book and…"

The hunter tuned him out and turned to speak to his father again, but the man was gone.

Just like Sam. And Dean felt a sudden sense of loss and worry wash over him, as he recalled Geronimo's words about the other two members of his family.

John and Sam had a way of hurting each other, that wasn't easily patched up with a first aid kid. The last time that they'd faced off without Dean had resulted in Sam being thrown out of the house-and Dean not having his kid brother around for two years.

Dean clenched his fists-feeling the cool metal of the protection charm he still had clasped in his hand and only hoped that they wouldn't kill each other or further damage the fragile threads barely holding them all together. After all, Dean had come back to life to protect them. To protect Sammy-even if it was from their own father. And he'd be damned if he was going to fail at it-ever again.

Chapter 15 coming soon.

_Will this thing never end? _

_Another big thank you to all who have reviewed-it helped me be brave enough to finish this part._


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sam had been so torn when he saw his father exit the inn and walk through the flames, with Dean in his arms.

There was a part of him that wanted to rush forward and tear his brother away from the man who had brought them all to that one awful moment. Because no matter if John had meant to or not-he had set the train in motion. And that runaway locomotive that held all their futures had always been headed to the only destination it could reach. Disaster.

Dean was merely the first casualty.

The only one that mattered to Sam at the moment.

He'd lost most of his father long ago. Maybe he had never even known the man. Right now, he didn't care either way.

Dean had been the one person to do all the things for him that parents were suppose to do. Dean had put Sam first-loved him unconditionally. Sometimes, he loved Sam when Sam hadn't deserved it. That's what parents did. They loved the bad parts of you as much as the good ones So, in reality, Sam had lost his entire family in one fell swoop.

The young hunter recalled his and Dean's conversation in Kansas-where his brother had recanted carrying a baby Sam from their burning house the night that their mother had been murdered.

Dean had saved him then.

But no one had saved Dean.

No god damn body had ever really saved Dean. Not their dad, and not Sam.

They had failed him.

Dean-who wanted nothing more than his family to be together. Dean-who would do anything for either of them. Including give his life.

And that failure was consuming Sam. He didn't want to face his father and he sure the hell couldn't face his dead brother.

And that drove him from the fire.

Sam had started off running, fleeing from the one thing he could not escape. But soon the adrenaline, anger, and grief couldn't sustain the weakened state of his body, and he was barely able to stay on his feet when he reached his destination.

He'd noticed it on their first night in town. It had actually made him smile, thinking of all the similar ones he'd spent time in with his brother. A normal piece in the freaky puzzle that was their childhood.

Leaning up against the chain-length fence and looking up at the structure, he could feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes again as the memory washed over him.

"_Come on, Sammy-how bad can it be?"_

"_YOU hate it," the five year old countered. "You say so all the time."_

"_I don't actually hate it." Okay, Dean should have learned to be careful with what he said after the whole F-word incident. "It's just not my thing."_

"_Then it won't be my thing."_

_At five Sam wanted to be just like his big brother. NO reason for deviation from perfection. Most of the time it was flattering-but not so much at that very moment. However, Dean hoped he could use it to his advantage. _

"_But I thought you wanted to do what I do during the day. I thought you weren't a baby anymore." _

"_I'm not a baby," Sam defended, his arms defiantly crossing over his chest. "I'm five."_

"_Yeah-well five year olds go to Kindergarten, Sammy."_

"_But I want to go with you-I want to go to your grade."_

_Dean could hear the hint of tears in his kid brother's voice and he dropped to his knees in front of the smaller boy. "We can't always stay together, Sam."_

_Liquid brown eyes lifted to meet his gaze and blinked owlishly. "Can too-Daddy said we were suppose to stay together."_

"_Well-Dad's not here," Dean said harsher then he meant to. He took a deep breath and then forced a slight grin to make up for his gruffness. "Besides, I don't think they'll let me back in Kindergarten-I won't fit in the desks."_

"_Then I'll come to fourth grade. I know how to read."_

_And Sam did. Dean had taught him. _

"_I can write my whole name-Samuel Johnathan Winchester-and say my ABC's and count to 100. I can name all my colors and tie my shoe like the bunny runs."_

_And he could-all because of Dean. _

"_I know you can, Sammy. You're super smart. But do you know what nine times four is, or how about twelve times twelve. You have to know your multiplication facts if you're in fourth grade."_

_The little boy thought really hard. "I can use a calculator-just like you do."_

_Dean sighed. The kid was too smart. "They don't allow that."_

_Sam frowned. "Then you shouldn't be in fourth grade either."_

_Oh boy. "I still have to go."_

"_But I want to come with you." Sam's lip began to tremble and he started scuffing his shoe on the ground. Both sure signs that the waterworks display wasn't far behind. "Please don't leave me, Dean!"_

_As exciting as school had sounded, Sammy hadn't actually thought about the fact that he'd have to do it alone. Without his big brother. He'd never been without his brother. _

"_Listen, kiddo," Dean used his best grown up ten year old voice and took hold of his little brother's shoulders, so he'd pay attention. "I'm not leaving you for good-just for a little while. Okay?" _

_Sam continued to look at the ground so he gave his brother a playful shake. "I want you to go have fun. You've still got lots of stuff to learn and they'll be fun things to do. You'll be so busy that after a while you won't even notice I'm gone-and then before you know it, it'll be time for you to leave. And I'll be waiting for you."_

_The little boy finally glanced towards the front of the building where other kids his age were gathered, talking and playing games. He felt his brother's hands fall away from him and he quickly turned to face Dean once more. "Promise you'll come back for me?"_

"_Cross my heart." Dean pointed to the playground. "I'll be waiting for you just on the other side."_

_Sam grinned, and quickly hugged the other boy. "I'll miss you," he whispered, holding on a little bit longer than he usually did. "I'll miss you like forever has gone by."_

_Dean laughed and pulled away, ruffling his kid brother's too-long blond hair as he did. "I'll miss you too, Sammy."_

_The school bells rang out. _

And Sam watched through the fence as the children made their way back into theNew Hope school building.

He blinked away the tears-as the bittersweet flashback from the past collided with the cold reality of the moment.

He was no longer five-no longer in the long shadow of his big brother. Sam was alone.

Dean would not be waiting for him on the playground-ready to ask about his day and deal with any demons in the forms of bullies or bad reports that Sam might have encountered in their time apart.

His brother _would_ be waiting for him. Not when school was out. Not when recess was over. He'd be there-_someday_.

But someday was too long to wait. It seemed like an eternity and it wasn't suppose to happen this way. Not yet. Sam wasn't ready to let go. And Sam usually got what he wanted. Dean had always seen to that.

Sam waited until the last student had gone back in, and then made his way to one of the playground swings-where he sat down and buried his face in his hands.

"Please-God. Please make this stop."

The little school house at New Hope looked like it could have been on a postcard. It's white plank frame and sparkling windows decorated with various works of art by masterful, child hands spoke of small town ways, of well-attended PTA meetings, and of a community who probably didn't even lock their doors at night. But John Winchester saw only one thing as he approached. He saw his son.

Not the six foot four, twenty two year old, now hunched over in the swing, but the sweet six year old who had been forgotten on the playground by the person who was never suppose to let him down.

Forgotten not by his big brother-but by his father, who hadn't remembered that his oldest son had been home sick with the flu.

It had happened while John was researching a hunt. He had left Sam at the school for hours before Dean had called the library, worried when his father and Sam hadn't returned. Sammy hadn't even moved from the spot where his older brother always met him. It was almost dark when he'd finally gotten to Hanover Elementary and Sammy was practically frozen.

He didn't speak a word to his father the whole way back to their apartment, but his dark eyes had spoke volumes. Especially when the little boy had burst into tears as soon as he was in the same room with Dean, clinging to the older boy as if he'd been afraid that he'd never see him again-like it had been forever since they'd been together.

It was John's first lesson in who Sam counted on. But it was not the first time he'd failed one of his boys, and Dean made sure it was the last time that he trusted his father to be what Sam needed. After that, the eleven year old seemed to pick up all the emotional slack. Maybe that's what John had wanted him to do.

But that same lack of trust was still shining in Dean's green eyes back at the inn and it had made John wonder if he would ever be able to reverse the damage he'd done, or to make things right for either of his boys.

Watching the grown up Sam in the child's swing-he almost felt he'd been given another chance. A chance to give Sam something that would make up for all the other bad stuff. This time he'd be there for Sam. Whether Sam wanted him to or not.

The oldest Winchester stopped in front of his son and wrapped his hands around one of the metal chains attached to the swing. "I saw this place on the way in. It made me think of you and your brother."

When his youngest didn't even bother to lift his head to look at him. John took a seat in the swing beside of him. "Sammy?"

"Go away."

"We need to talk, son."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I think there is."

"I don't give a fuck about what you think." Sam did lift his head this time. He stood and glared down at his father. "I haven't for a long time."

John sighed heavily, and stood also. "I know you don't understand what happened back there, but..."

"Don't understand?" Sam shook his head, his eyes filling again, as the anger that had been bullied by grief rushed back in like high tide. "I watched my brother die. What's not to understand?"

"Sam-I would have done anything to keep that from happening. For both of you, but you don't know…"

"I don't know what?" Sam threw his hands up. "That you had to finish whatever hunt you were on? Or maybe you had a really hot lead on the demon that killed Mom and Jess? Because I do know, Dad. You had to save someone or everyone else- but us? You threw Dean to the wolves, you son of a bitch, just like always, because you knew he could handle it-that he _would _handle it."

John suddenly wished for that quiet, withdrawn six year old to appear and make his job a whole lot easier. "Sam-I didn't know how this would turn out-I didn't set it up-if that's what you're thinking." God-had they really drifted so far apart. He was doing everything he could to keep his sons safe.

"So-you didn't know about the spell when you sent us here-or the prophecy?"

When John hesitated, Sam pounced. "You did know and you counted on the fact that Dean would do whatever it would take to save me. You used his…", Sam choked, "Damn you! You used his feelings for me against him."

"I would never set up a scenario where your brother could or would be hurt-damn it!" John was just as angry as Sam now, his emotions overshadowing the reason he had sought out his son. It struck John as ironic that Dean wasn't even with them, but he was once again being shoved to the background, so his father and Sam could hash out who had hurt who the most. With the realization came familiar guilt and he sighed, lowering his voice. "I love you and your brother. I've done everything to protect you from that damn thing that killed your mother."

Sam shook his head, and snorted. "When what we needed was protection from you."

The stinging slap was a shock, but the pain was welcome. Sam wanted to hurt. He wanted to feel anything, besides the cold numbness that had set in since losing Dean.

But it was John who looked the most surprised.

In all their fights, in all their clashes, the man had never laid a hand on Sam. Never.

He'd hit Dean once, and spanked him on numerous occasions, but Sam could never recall one time when his father had ever hit him or physically punished him.

Sam suspected that it had something to do with his brother, and _that _once again drove home the point of just what Sam had lost.

Dean was his protection-from a lot of things.

"I'm sorry," John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to do that." He'd come to help, not do more damage.

"Just leave me alone. You've done it for almost three years. Just walk away-and don't look back this time."

"I came here to tell you something, damn it, and I'm not leaving until I do."

"There is nothing that you have to say that I want to hear. As far as I'm concerned, you're as dead to me as my brother is."

"You're brother isn't dead!"

The words struck like an anvil dropped from above.

Sam blinked several times and then glared at the man in front of him-wondering if the father he'd loved so much as a little boy could be so cruel as to lie about something so terrible. "What?"

"Dean's alive."

"Are you crazy?" Maybe the unthinkable had finally happened and John Winchester had slipped over that invisible edge that he seemed to walk on so carefully. Perhaps, Sam would lock him somewhere far away-just like Reese Mathers had been locked away. Then Sam would be free of him.

"I used the protection charm you gave your brother to do a binding spell, and Geronimo did the rest. The original spell had no strength after Dellacrois and the Inn was destroyed. I just had to keep your brother bound to us long enough for that to happen."

Ironic as it was, the crazy explanation his father was spouting _would _have seemed insane to any normal person, but it didn't seem farfetched to Sam. To Sam-it made perfect, beautiful sense in all its Winchester glory.

"Dean's alive?" Sam didn't care how it had happened, he only hoped that he wasn't passed out somewhere and that this wasn't just a wishful dream. "He's okay?"

John nodded. "I'd never lie to you about that, Sammy. He's at the hospital in Bowie."

Sam raked a hand over his face, reeling from the idea that it could all be true.

His father must have recognized the look, and in the risk of sounding completely lame and proving Dean's theory of him secretly wanting to be Obi-wan-the old guy, not the young version-John laid a hand on his son's arm and said, "Search your feelings, you'll know it's true."

Sam felt hysterical laughter threatening to bubble it's way to the surface as he imagined Dean rolling his eyes at him and his father. He could almost hear him muttering, in his scoffing Han Solo way …"Yeah. Go ahead, Luke. Use the force. "

But Sam did as his father said, and in a mere second, he found what he was looking for.

How he'd missed it before he wasn't sure-but he guessed that the anger and grief had probably held it at bay. Or at least blocked him from sensing it. The link-or whatever connection that held him to his brother-was back.

"You saved him." Sam almost felt bad for the things he'd said earlier, but then he remembered that his brother _had _actually died-and that no matter what John said-he'd allowed it to happen.

His father sighed and shook his head. "No-you did, Sam. You two saved each other."

Sam swallowed hard and silently sent a quick thank you to whoever watched over wayward hunters and their sons, before giving his dad a brief, forgiving smile. "Then let's go get him."

When John didn't return the smile and he instead hesitated, Sam felt the old familiar pull of hurt tug at him. "You're not coming." It wasn't a question, Sam already knew the answer. He felt it pulsing off his father in waves.

"It's still not safe for me to be with you. I have a lead I need to follow."

"Dean's in the hospital!" Sam growled, not able to understand the man standing in front of him. How could one person be so oblivious. "He needs you." _We need you and we just got you back. _

"No-he needs you." John sighed. "And you need him."

"Have you ever thought that maybe we need our father."

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I can't stay." And he _was_ sorry-more than he could ever say.

"Can't or won't?"

When John started to open his mouth, Sam rushed to hold up a hand to stop him. "Don't answer that. That way I don't have to lie to Dean." He shook his head, anger making his usual warm, golden eyes dark and colorless as obsidian. "He deserves better than the truth."

John nodded, accepting his son's anger as the costly price of what he was seeking. "Tell him I love him-and I'll be in touch."

Sam shook his head in disgust. "Just text him the next coordinates, Dad. After all, nothing says you care like another fucking job."

John watched him turn and go, his arms aching to reach out and stop his son. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and he hadn't even gotten a chance to say he was sorry.

He wanted nothing more than to hold on to his boy, both his boys, but every turn in their twisted lives seemed to take him father away from them, instead of closer to that goal. John glanced up at the sunny sky and sighed, berating himself for the useless self pity. After all, nobody was to blame but himself. Everyone knew it was damn near impossible to grab onto anything when your hands were clenched into fists.

Chapter 16 Coming soon.


	16. Chapter 16

Negative Effect

Chapter 16

A/N A huge thanks to my friend Tidia who gave me a boost of inspirational angst to this story _and_ caught some typos.

Dr. Hayes lifted the stethescope from Dean's chest and eyed the young hunter with slight exasperation, though Dean thought the look teetered on disappointment. "It seems that there is no ill effect from the smoke inhalation. Your vitals are good, but I'd like you to stay here overnight for observation."

"He was only dead for a few minutes," Morry piped in, looking over the physician's shoulder at Dean. "Was that long enough for any," the mechanic made looping motions near his own temple, "you know-damage?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No more so than sniffing formaldehyde and exhaust fumes for extended periods of time." He'd had about enough of Morry's _concern_. The big man had first insisted on riding in the ambulance with him, and then had conned his way into the ER examination room, where he had answered for Dean every time that Hayes had asked him a question.

Morry shook his head. "He's been a bit cranky, too, Doc-a real pill. You think that's a side effect?"

Hayes raised a brow, and huffed. "No, from what I've seen of Mr. Davis here, I believe it's a condition of his personality."

"It's Winchester," Morry corrected. "His name is Dean Winchester."

Dean groaned when the doctor again pinned him with a disappointed glare. "I'm sure Agent Hill will want to know that for his report."

"Look, talk to the sheriff, he can vouch for me."

"I'm sure he can." Hayes didn't look convinced, but instead jotted something down in Dean's chart. "We'll get you set up in a room, and then you three can hash it out."

"I don't need a room," Dean pushed himself up straighter on the examination table. "I'm not staying."

"I suggest that you reconsider that, Mr.Da…Winchester. After all, you apparently suffered an episode of cardiac arrest. That shouldn't be taken lightly."

"Listen to him, kid…" Morry started, but then caught on to the doctor's wording and _apparently_ took offense. "What the hell do you mean by apparently? I know dead, Doc. This boy's heart was as silent as a church on a Monday."

"All I am saying, Morry, is that you have been known to be a little premature in your observations."

The physician started for the door, and much to Dean's delight the mechanic trailed after him, still defending his propriety . "It wasn't my fault that old man Gibson was into that meditation shit," Morry was saying as the door to the small examination room swung shut behind them. The hunter, now alone, sighed and allowed himself to relax back on the table.

Without the distraction, his mind instantly went to his brother and father, and what could possibly be keeping them.

After all, he'd been at the hospital for over an hour, and worry was steadily pacing the feeling of complete exhaustion that was tugging at him. His body was begging for the sleep it had been deprived for the last three days, and in all honesty, the aching in his ribs and chest wasn't helping matters.

But one thing overshadowed all the other physical and emotional aches and pains-his need to see Sam.

Dean couldn't close his eyes without seeing his little brother's face, and the look of complete devastation that had been in his brown eyes as Dean had taken his last breath.

It was a look Dean would never forget, and one he never wanted to see again. After all, it wasn't natural to witness the grief that your own death brought to those that you loved and then have the memory of it haunt you. But of course, the alternative would have been worse. Sam would have been left alone-unprotected.

With that morose thought as motivation, Dean ordered his protesting body to move and he slipped from the hard, metal table. His feet hit the floor and he had to brace himself for a minute as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

A sharp pain raced across his sternum, and he reminded himself to thank his dad for the great job he did on the compressions.

The hunter had just made it to the chair where his jacket and shoes were stacked neatly, when the bay doors opened again, and he lifted his head in hopeful expectation. Unfortunately, Sam nor his father entered. In fact, no friendly face met his. In stead, Agent Hill entered, and judging by the feral grin on his face, Dean was pretty sure he hadn't forgotten how he'd received the black eye he was sporting.

"Mr. Davis-it's so good to see you again."

Dean dropped his jacket back to the chair and smiled. "Wish I could say the same, G-man."

The agent shrugged. "Don't feel too bad, I'm not offended."

"Yeah, after a while rejection probably becomes old hat to you second string hitter types-huh?"

The agent stepped closer to Dean, using his four inch height advantage to try and seem imposing. "I guess. Sort of like lying and deception become second nature to you criminal types?"

Dean grinned, "Do we really want to let sour grapes come in between what could be a truly beautiful friendship?"

"The doctor said you were doing really well for someone who died, but if you ask me, you look like shit." Hill scratched at his head. "Funny, I figured your brother would be the next casualty in this whole convoluted mess. Where is he, by the way?"

Dean felt the hair at the back of his neck rise at the agent's interest in Sam. "My brother's none of your business."

"I don't know about that. From what good old Morry said, seems he has miraculously recovered, or at least survived the three day incubation period that the others weren't fortunate enough to endure." Hill shook his head. "I'm thinking maybe we need to study whatever helped him do that."

Dean glared at the man. "Stay away from my brother."

Hill smiled. "He could be important in saving other lives, and you wouldn't want to jeopardize more people in this town, would you?"

"This town is safe," Dean replied. "And even if it wasn't, my brother still wouldn't be your lab rat."

"You really think you can stop the federal government, son?" Agent Hill rolled his eyes. "You can barely stand up on your own, and I'm not distracted this time." He motioned to his own bruised face. "You got lucky once, it won't happen again."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. Unless you're talking about the fact that you were lucky I didn't take your head off for touching my kid brother. Because you were. And believe me-that won't happen again."

"I don't like you, Davis-or whatever the hell your name is. I plan on pressing charges for the assault on a federal officer and for the obstruction of justice, and then I'll place your brother in custody as a material witness to the ongoing investigation of the recent deaths. He's liable to disappear in a mound of paperwork while you're cooling your heels in a federal pen."

Dean swallowed hard, fighting off another round of dizziness as his heart rate and muscles reacted to the implied threat to his brother. "Or you could just as easily end up the next casualty in this whole convoluted mess."

The CDC agent leaned in closer, pointing his finger at Dean. "Tell me where your brother is. If you cooperate, things can go easy for you."

"Fuck a bunch of easy," Dean shoved the man out of his face.

Agent Hill smiled and without any warning rammed his fist into Dean's mid-section, the force of the strike doubling the younger man over.

The hunter could have blamed his slow reaction on his slightly blurred vision and the ringing in his ears, or on the whole dying and coming back to life incident, but in all honesty, he just hadn't thought the dickhead in the cheap suit had it in him.

He was wrong. Hill proved that with another vicious blow to Dean's ribs, and the hunter had to give him some credit for knowing how to throw a hell of a punch.

And as the breath rushed out of him and his knees gave way, Dean cursed his overconfidence, and his unresponsive reflexes and weakened body.

Unfortunately, he didn't have too long to ponder his own ignorance or his incapacitated state as Hill followed up with a hard downward jab to Dean's face that had him seeing stars and his sorry ass kissing the cold tile floor.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed, as breath rushed back into his lungs, and his face throbbed in time with his pounding heart. He managed to catch himself before his face met the same fate as his posterior, but each breath he pulled in sent a hot wave of agony through his already bruised ribs and aching chest. "When I get…up…off this…floor, I am…so going to kick your ass."

"Sure you are," Hill stayed out of Dean's reach, and squatted down, smiling at the hunter, but cautiously watching him as if he were an injured, wild animal. "Now let's try this again. _Where_ is your brother?"

Dean lifted his head to tell the man just where he could go, when the very person in question entered the room, followed by Sheriff Buck Landry. Both men seemed to connect the dots quickly and Sam stepped between the older Winchester, who was still on the floor, and the CDC agent, who had quickly stood at the interruption.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam demanded, as the relief of actually seeing his brother alive and breathing was dampened by concern. He turned to the older hunter, torn between the need to tear into Hill and his instinct to check on Dean. "Dean? Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm good. Agent Hill was just showing me some interesting interrogation methods." Dean looked up at Buck. "You might want to see if he can teach a class for you and your deputies, Mayberry. They're pretty effective."

"What the fuck are you doing, Hill?" Buck stepped toe to toe with the agent. "This ain't some fucking bad cop show on HBO."

"Come on, Landry. This punk assaulted a federal officer, not to mention the fact he's a material witness in the investigation into several mysterious deaths, and now an arson investigation."

"Deaths that took place in my town!" Buck pointed out, poking a finger in the other lawman's chest. "Deaths, by the way-not homicides. And that _arson_ you mentioned that also happened to take place in my jurisdiction was an accidental fire, in which this _punk _saved some lives." Buck shook his head in disgust. "And as far as the assault goes, I'd say you better hope that doesn't come up in any report that might call _your _character in question, because these boys have a damn good case for police brutality. I'll back them up."

"That kid could hold the answer to this virus." Hill nodded to Sam. "I have every right to take him into custody."

"That ain't going to happen," Dean growled, trying to push himself up from the floor.

"I think you've been working too hard, Hill." Buck jerked his chin towards Sam. "The kid had a cold and he's fine now. You want to explain how he's going to help the CDC with their sloppy investigation. I doubt if your superiors will enjoy the press on something like that."

"You know-I'm really beginning to smell a cover up, Sheriff Landry."

Buck snorted. "Sort of smells like a bunch of rotten Paraguayan fruit, now doesn't it, Agent Hill?"

The government official's face turned three shades of red, and he stormed out of the room without another look in either Winchester's direction.

Sam watched him go, and sure the threat was gone, turned all his attention to his brother. "Dean?"

"Sammy," Dean sighed, and forced a slight smile as his brother finally knelt beside him. "Seems like a lifetime ago since I saw you, kiddo."

Sam shook his head at his brother's attempt at humor. "Yeah, like forever has gone by."

Dean raised a brow at the old phrase he hadn't heard in years. "You okay?"

Sam laughed, tears stinging his eyes. "I think I should be asking you that, you jerk."

"I'm good."

"Sure you are," the reply came from Landry who reached down and took one of Dean's arms. "Let's get the hero here off the floor, Sam."

Sam took his brother's other arm and the two of them managed to help the older Winchester back onto the bed. Once Buck was sure that the kid wasn't going to take another nose dive, he looked at Sam. "I'm going to go get the, Doc."

"Thanks," Sam replied, keeping a firm grip on his brother, who appeared resigned to his fate of playing the patient a while longer. "You sure that you're okay," the younger hunter asked Dean once they were alone.

Dean sighed, but held his brother's worried gaze. "I'm okay, Sammy. Good as new."

Sam reached up and touched the quickly darkening bruise on his brother's face. "I was so…," he quickly pulled his hand away and ran it through his own hair, trying to keep himself together. "God, Dean, I watched you die. Do you know what the fuck that was like?"

The older Winchester watched his little brother struggle to hold onto the control he could see slipping away from him. "Well for me it was a little disappointing. That whole life passing before your eyes thing is a bunch of crap. And I was really looking forward to that part."

"I don't think it's funny, damn it!" Sam was pacing in front of him now, the solace of finding his brother alive and in one piece, quickly being replaced by anger born of guilt and grief. "You died-for me. In my place!" Like everybody else he'd ever loved.

"It was the only way," Dean said, trying to keep his own temper in check, puzzled by how the conversation had veered off into left field. "I wasn't going to let you die."

Sam turned furious eyes to him. "What the hell makes my life more important than yours? Why do you get to choose something like that for me? Who made you God?"

"What do you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean gestured angrily. "That it was all a mistake, that I'm sorry? Because I'm not! I did what I had to do."

"And you didn't think for a minute how that would make me feel, you selfish jerk."

Dean felt as if his brother had hit him. "- Selfish? I took a knife for you. I've taken shit for you, - your whole entire life, Sam. What the hell else do you want from me?"

Sam stopped in front of the older hunter, his breath coming in harsh pants, his fists clenched. For a minute he thought about continuing where Hill had left off, might have if he thought it would pound any sense into the man in front of him. "I want you to live, damn it. For yourself, not for me. I want you to have a life besides being my protector. My fucking savior."

"You don't get it, Sam! Twenty-two years and you still don't get it, do you?"

"Get what!" Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Get that you're crazy? Believe me-I understand that. That you place no value on your own worth? What? What the hell am I missing, Dean?"

"I love you, Sam." Dean shouted back, and Sam was sure he felt the earth move.

The world was surely coming apart.

"I'm your brother. But it's more than that. Haven't you been paying attention to the story, Geek Boy? You're not the fucking sidekick in this melodrama. I am. And we all know what happens to the sidekick in the end, Sammy!"

"Shut-up!" Sam grabbed him by the shirt and gave him a hard shake. "Don't say that!" A memory of being seventeen and watching his brother throw himself in harms way against a demon that had kidnapped Sam flashed through the younger boy's mind. It was the moment he had admitted to himself that Dean was doomed from the beginning-that he would die tragically if things didn't change. It was that night Sam had decided to go to Stanford. But hearing his brother voice the fears he'd locked away all those years ago was too much. "Just shut the hell up!"

Dean felt his eyes sting, but he held his brother's gaze. "Whether I say it or not, little brother, it's true! This is just a reprieve."

Sam shook his head, feeling the hot trail of a tear as it slid down his face. He was teetering on an invisible ledge, one he was bound to topple over any minute, and the trembling ground beneath him wasn't helping matters. "I won't let it be true."

His fists tightened in his brother's shirt and he shook him again. "I'm not losing you again." Sam could not be responsible for his brother's death. It would kill him. "You're the hero-_Captain One Hell of a Fucking Big Brother_. You're invincible! And don't you forget it!"

Dean couldn't help but to grin at the ridiculous statement, said with such heartbreaking sincerity and ferocious determination. His brother almost had him believing it. "I hope you're right, Sammy, because like it or not our buddy Geronimo only gave me one Get Out of Hell Free Card."

Sam laughed, despite himself, and leaned his forehead down until it rested against Dean's. "God-you are such an ass," he sighed, feeling more tired and utterly exhausted than he could ever remember.

"I know," Dean reached his hand up and patted his brother's chest. "Kind of evens out the fact that I'm so unbelievably good looking though."

Sam laughed again, straightened to his full height and finally let his hands drop from his brother's shirt. But he remained close. "And Dean?"

The older hunter looked up at his kid brother. "Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

Dean grinned. "Good to hear, seeing as how I took a knife for your whiny, ungrateful ass."

Sam rolled his eyes, and started to turn away, but Dean's hand snaked out and fisted in his jacket.

Before he could react or say anything, he found himself pulled into his brother's arms and wrapped in a firm hug. Dean didn't say anything-just held him like he might disappear if he let him go.

He held him until the ground stopped shaking and Sam found his footing again.

When he did push Sam away, he kept one hand on his shoulder. "And Sammy?"

Sam had to clear his throat before speaking, and even then it came out as only a raw whisper. "Yeah, Dean?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "Don't ever shake me again."

Sam grinned. "Sorry."

His older brother let him go and sighed, wincing slightly as he pulled his arm around his bruised ribs again. "Now that we're clear on a few things, what the hell did you do with Dad?"

The relief he'd felt only moments before seemed to slip from his grasp again. "He…uh…"Sam licked his lips, hating the way his brother was looking at him now with such hopeful anticipation. "He…"

"Went for coffee." The deep, rich voice rang out behind Sam and he whirled around in surprise to find his father standing just inside the doorway.

He heard Dean laugh and it sounded so damn good, that all the previous anger he'd felt for his father was shoved aside for the moment. "What is it with you and Sam and your coffee?"

John grinned, dimples flashing. "What can I say? He takes after his old man. I use to put it in his bottle when you weren't looking." He stepped along side his youngest son and handed him one of the steaming Styrofoam cups.

Sam took the drink and stared at the man before him. "Thanks."

John winked at him and then looked at Dean. "So, Ace, Morry tells me he's concerned that there might be some brain damage?" Their dad made a looping gesture at his temple.

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned. "Only of his own."

"I don't know," Sam smiled, and looked at his father, relishing in the chance to stick it to his brother. "Morry might be on to something, Dad. Dean did use the L-word just a minute ago, and then he _hugged_ me."

"Shut-up!" Dean glared at his brother.

John looked shocked. "The L-word. _Our_ Dean? And he hugged you?"

"Yep. For at least a whole minute or two. It was a total chick-flick scene."

"I only did it because he was _crying_, Dad." Dean shot his brother another heated look. "Like the girlie- boy that he is."

The oldest Winchester shook his head and looked extremely concerned. "I think we should take Morry's advice on the CAT scan, just in case."

"The man's a mechanic for crying out loud," Dean protested.

"And a taxidermist," Sam replied, after taking a long drink of his coffee. "Don't forget that." The youngest Winchester looked at his father. "Real good, too. I've seen his work."

John nodded. "And he's a damn fine volunteer firefighter and EMT. You should have seen the way he got right to business with your brother. Didn't even bother using that sanitation mask thing, just dove right in for the life saving breath."

Dean made a gagging noise. "Geez, just kill me now!"

"Don't be ungrateful, son. The man saved your life."

"And the Impala. Don't forget that." Sam piped in. "He even burned a body for you, Dean. Nothing says loyalty and devotion like a good bone toasting. You can't even teach a dog that trick."

John raised a brow. "You let him burn a corpse?"

Sam and Dean shared a look, and before Sam could reply Dean saw his chance. "It was Sam's idea. He even suggested bringing Morry in on the whole hunting gig with us."

"I was joking." Sam stammered, seeing the evil twinkle in Dean's eyes as their father turned on his youngest, all kidding on his part apparently forgotten.

"Samuel, you know the rules."

Sam sighed. _Great. _Not even five minutes and things had already deteriorated to _Samuel. _

"I think he's forgotten them, Dad," Dean chirped in again. "Maybe you should refresh his memory."

"It looks that way."

"Can I watch?" Dean asked, gleefully.

"You can do more than watch," John looked at his oldest son. "You can join him."

"What?" Dean's smile faltered and Sam smirked at him from behind John's back. "But, I'm injured here. Remember-brain damage?"

"You have brain damage all right." Sam shook his head.

"Hey-I wasn't the one who opened their big mouth about the whole Monroe corpse thing."

"Shut up."

"No. You shut up."

Hiding a huge satisfied smile behind his cup, John took another drink of the bitter brew, and soaked up the beautiful sounds of family that he'd for so long been deprived.

Sam had been right. Sometimes boys just needed their father.

Maybe, the hunt _could_ wait. At least one more day.

Epilogue-coming soon.


	17. Epilogue

Negative Effect

Epilogue

A/N: Wow, it's finally over. I want to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who wrote reviews for this story. You guys are truly the reason it was completed, even though I didn't respond to each and everyone of you individually. I read everything you wrote, and appreciated it more than I can say. Big hugs to Tidia and Will also, who gave encouragement and insight-especially here at the end. Thanks Everyone.

A/N/N: Seeing as how the Prologue was written in Dean's first person, I finished up that way for continuity. Although, I let the other two Winchester men have their say this time.

The storm clouds from earlier in the morning have given way to a breathtaking sunny day, and as usual I can only wonder what the night will bring.

It's not in my nature to live in the here and now, I suppose. I am always waiting for something just around the corner to come and fuck up whatever is going right at the moment.

And today, most things are right, so I am being especially cautious.

Still, even though I've been relegated to the backseat of my once pride and joy, and am currently the odd man out in a conversation about the specs of a book tentatively titled _Ghost Busting for Dummies_, I have to fight to keep the smile off of my face. After all, John Winchester doesn't go around with a goofy grin on his face.

But, for the first time in a long, long while, I am home. Although, there are some unexpected visitors in my _house_.

"I don't really think you can create a whole chapter on bone burning, Morry," Reese Mathers, is sitting next to me, his lean frame dwarfed by the muscular biker sitting against the other window. The ex-reporter is shaking his head, but stroking his mustache, which tells me, from past experience, that the educated man is actually considering the mechanic's idiotic idea.

"Oh, I can draw it out, old man. There's more than one way to skin a cat."

"And he should know," My oldest son, Dean, says with a glance in the rearview mirror. "Morry's skinned his fair share."

I'm still wondering why in the hell Morry got an invite to this little party, but it's obvious it was partly for Dean's amusement.

"Damn straight, kid. There was this old gal I once knew who wanted to make a coat from Persian, and…"

"And let me guess, Cruella, " Dean interrupts again, shooting his brother, who is silently riding shotgun a wicked smile, "you helped her steal about a hundred adorable kittens from some poor unsuspecting family. Then you wrote a book about it and sold the rights to Disney, where the names and species were changed to protect the innocent?"

Morry simply looks at _me_ reproachfully, as if I have had any hand in the creation driving the car. I merely shake my head, and raise my hands in innocence, because although I know I donated biological material, I honestly have no fucking idea where Dean Winchester evolved from. "It's a real wonder you've survived with all those nice teeth of yours intact, boy, considering the way you mouth off to your elders," the mechanic finally mumbles.

"And here I thought you liked me, Morry." Dean is still smirking, content with his abuse of the taxidermist.

"Less and less, these days."

"Don't sweat it, Morry. Most people who've made out with Dean start to feel that way," Sam says quickly, and I nearly laugh at loud at the horrified look on his brother's face. It's not often anyone gets one up on the master, but if anyone can, it's Sam.

"I can't imagine why," Morry leans against the front seat, in between my boys, finding the chance to get his own digs in. "I thought his lips were real soft-like, Kind of sweet, like a girl."

"Shut up, Grand pa Adams!" Dean growls, and Morry falls back in the seat, holding his side from his laughter.

This time Reese shoots me a look, as if I could control anything that's going on in the vehicle. Hell, I lost control years ago, and from what I've witnessed in the last twenty four hours, it will be a cold day in Texas before I get it back.

Suddenly, the car is filled with screeching guitars and reverberating drums, and my mind instantly conjures images of stringy haired, musicians that my teenage son use to idolize. Southern Rock is one thing I do _not_ miss about riding with Dean.

One look up at the rearview mirror and I can see Dean pretending to concentrate on the road, but scheming on some way to regain his honor. I fear for Sam's safety. And Morry's. Although, I could actually enjoy seeing the big taxidermist taken down a notch or two.

If he tells me one more time what a miracle it is that Dean is alive-and apparently with all mental faculties in tact- I might have to kill him myself.

Because no one understands more clearly than I do how close it came. How easily Dean could have slipped away, and I could have lost my child. Sam could have lost his brother. That point was driven home last night, as I awoke in the early hours before dawn to find Sam, also sleepless, watching his brother, in the darkness of our hotel room.

It was almost like he was standing sentry-making sure Dean wouldn't be taken away again. Maybe he was protecting him from me. I'm not sure anymore.

I wanted to say something, anything, to comfort him. To reassure him, but I couldn't.

Losing family is a pain that can not be explained away.

It's like a cancer, that slowly eats away at you. It can make you mad. Insane.

And with that thought in mind, my eyes involuntarily go to Reese. I could have so easily become him. There was a time or two when it came close, when someone threatened to take the boys from me, and have me locked away.

The old man is furiously scribbling notes in his journal now, and I wonder if it is for some new story his warped imagination is contriving or if it is more of a defense mechanism to burn all the anxiety that I am sure he is feeling.

I mean I was all to hell with the prospect of seeing Sam after nearly three years of separation. I can only imagine how it would feel to go fifty years without seeing my own child.

But Dean apparently promised him a piece of the best apple tortilla known to man, which in reality, meant a family reunion that Oprah would have been proud of.

In fact, I'm pretty proud of it, too.

Dean, despite all the things I have done to beat it out of him, still has a heart as big as his bravado.

He's a sucker for family shit.

Always has been.

His mom was the same way. And for the life of me, I can't find it in me to want him to change.

It would be easier for him. If he'd just let go.But he won't. And although it annoys me, I love it about him.

Because as much as Sam and I continue on the quest to put the pieces of this fucking mystery together, to avenge our loved ones, Dean strives to reconstruct the shattered fragments of his precious family-to save the ones he loves. And despite that it's a weakness, I have to honor it.

Helping a lost father find his way back to his daughter is just one more example of his belief in the sanctity of something so incredibly normal.

"So, this joint has good eats?" Morry asks, as we thankfully pull into the dirt parking lot of the Tortilla Flats Saloon.

"Ask Sam," Dean instructs him as he kills the switch and opens the driver's door. "He had one of everything on the menu last time we were here."

Sam rolls his eyes and gets out, too, opening the back door for Morry. "Don't listen to him. He's just jealous because Rose liked me best."

"My Rosie was always a kind heart," Reese speaks up, taking his glasses off and cleaning them again for about the hundredth time. "I can't imagine that has changed very much."

"All women want to feed and coddle, Sam." Dean looks at me, as if again that is somehow my fault. "I, on the other hand, elicit a wealth of different desires."

"Yeah, like the need to run fast and far," Sam mutters, and Dean cuffs him on the back of the head as he walks by.

"Don't be bitter, Sammy. It's not my fault I got the handsome coded Y chromosome."

"It's _Sam._"

Standing next to my youngest son, I smile. "It will always be Sammy."

He doesn't say anything at first, but once Dean is far enough ahead, he gives me a hard look. "For him, maybe."

And with that he lets me know that our short-lived truce is apparently called off, and I can't help the little stab of pain that darts through my heart.

It seems it will take more than a brief reunion full of pizza, beer, and a ballgame watched on a fuzzy motel TV to bring Sam back into the fold.

"Kids are a bitch, huh?" Morry offers as I slowly bring up the rear.

"You don't know the half of it," I reply as he holds the door open for me.

The place is just like I remember, with maybe a little more touristy type flamboyance than it had several years back, but the strong smell of chilies and grease is still prevalent. My stomach growls in anticipation, and I look around to catch sight of the boys.

They're standing by a table near the back with Reese, and a woman, several years older than myself is gushing over all three of them.

Her silver curls are bouncing around her full face as she talks wildly with her hands. I instantly recognize Reese Mathers' familiar blue eyes as they shine from her elated face.She grabs her father first and then Sam in a fierce bear hug.

Dean makes a mad break for it, before the woman can pull him into the emotional reunion and once again I have to duck my head to keep from smiling, as he scampers towards us, in his typical Cool Hand Luke fashion.

I take a seat on one of the empty stools at the counter. "So, I see that Rose is still excited?"

"Yeah, good call on the whole phoning first thing, Dad." Dean glances back over his shoulder. "I wouldn't have wanted the old gal to have a coronary or anything."

"You did good, kid," Morry says what I should have and smiles proudly at my son, and not for the first time I have a sudden sense of dislike for the man. "But you should have told me."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Told you what?"

"That Reese's girl was such a looker." Morry replies with a low whistle. He slicks his palm with his own saliva and tries to tame some wild, whisps of hair that have escaped his long, braided silver mane. "I would have worn my leather chaps." He glances at Dean and winks conspiratorially. "Women dig the leather."

"I hear that," Dean nods and I have to bite back on the groan I feel trying to escape.

Morry suddenly leans over and gets in Dean's face.

"Dude-back off."

"Is my breath okay?" Morry asks, sounding much more like a teenager than the sixty-year-old fool that he is.

Dean frowns and steps back. "If by okay you mean ode' of road kill, then yeah."

Morry doesn't look offended as he straightens the straps to his over alls and waggles his bushy eyebrows. "Alrighty then, come on and introduce me to the pretty little thing."

"This ain't E-Harmony, man."

"After all I've done for you, kid? Why you were half-way to the Golden Gate when I…"

"Introduce the man, Dean," I interrupt quickly, not at all sure I can keep my hands from around the mechanic's throat if he goes into the details of my kid's demise one more time.

"Yes, sir," he answers with a deep sigh, and then motions Morry to follow him.

"And make sure you mention how I saved your life. Women love a hero."

Dean groans. "How about I just tell her about your many diverse careers? Nothing says _hot _like hands that have been in grease and formaldehyde all day."

"Now don't go bragging on me, kid." Morry tosses an arm amiably around my son's shoulder and they start for the newly reunited family. "I don't want to intimidate her right off the bat."

Sam has managed to escape from Rose and saunters my way, a hint of blush still on his young face as he passes his brother and avoids the elbow Dean aimed for his midsection. He takes a stool next to me, and motions for the waitress.

"Your brother did a good thing," I nod to the table where Rose and her father are now sitting with Dean and Morry.

The server comes over and fills our coffee cups, and I cringe slightly as Sam dumps sugar and cream in his.

My son glances at me and shrugs, as he finishes killing off any flavor his drink might have had with another pack of sweetener. "He's a sucker for the whole family thing."

I study my youngest for a moment, finding it both comforting and troubling that I can see so much of myself in him, not only in superficial features, but imbedded deep inside. Where real damage can be done. "Listen, Sammy, I know we haven't had a chance to talk about things…"

Sam raises an eyebrow, and glances around the busy restaurant. "And you think now is the time?"

This could be the only time we have. "You could cut me some slack you know, kiddo." Even though I probably don't deserve it.

"Why? Because you saved Dean?" Sam glances towards where his brother is sitting, and I don't miss the look of recent grief that flashes through his dark eyes. "He wouldn't have been hurt if it wasn't for your hunting."

"It's not just _my_ hunting, Sam." I try to count to ten silently in my mind, as I wait for the inevitable smart-mouthed reply.

"Oh, right, it's our _legacy_-whether we want it or not."

There it is. I sigh. "Your brother wants to hunt." How can three years have gone by, and we're still stuck on the same old conversation.

"Because that's all he's ever known. It's the only way he's survived." Sam lowers his voice and relaxes his tense stance, when Dean casually glances our way, as if he can feel the familiar tension from across the room. "He'd follow you to hell and back if he thought that's what you wanted. He's blind where you're concerned."

It's my turn to shrug, and throw barbs. "That's kind of like the pot calling the kettle black, son."

He looks at me, slightly stunned that I was willing to go there, and I feel a little guilty. " "I didn't ask him to give his life for mine. I don't use his feelings for my own purposes," he whispers, angrily.

It's true to some degree. I'm sure Sam doesn't mean to be selfish, or to take his brother for granted. Maybe it's genetic. "So-when this is all over, you're going to stay with him? Keep hunting? Because it's what _he_ wants."

"Just because I don't want to hunt forever doesn't mean I don't love my brother." Sam shakes his head. "You don't understand."

Oh, I understand all right.

I understand that he's mad at me for more than what he perceives as the injustices I have pushed on his older brother. I put my coffee down and hold his gaze. "Understand what, Sammy? Brothers?" Truly, I do understand that more than I want to. "I know what it's like, Sam. I've been where you are. Maybe it's _you_ who doesn't understand."

Again he looks towards Dean, as if making sure he's still there. He did the same thing when he was a little boy-always making sure his brother was in sight-just in case. The fact that he was able to leave him, still floors me. "I get it, Dad." His eyes find mine once more. "Trust me."

"Trust works both ways, Sam."

"So, I'm suppose to just believe that what you're doing is best for him."

"Just like you want me to believe that what you're going to do won't hurt him again."

Anger sparks in the brown depths and Sam's hand tightens around the coffee mug he's holding in a grip that has me worrying for the structure's integrity. "I didn't leave _him._"

"Does he see it that way?"

"God-you're still a bastard," he sighs, slamming the cup down on the counter, it's contents sloshing over the sides. "I went to school for a better life."

He doesn't need to add the –_better than the one you gave me- _speech. I get that part loud and clear. "Exactly. And you'd still be there if the unthinkable hadn't have happened."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you need to consider your own motivations in this whole thing, before you start judging mine." Sam looks at me like I've slapped him, but before I can dig myself in any deeper, a hand clasps my shoulder and I'm not surprised to find that Dean has made his way over to us. "You two catching up?"

His green eyes stand out starkly against his pale, bruised face, and I have to clear my throat and take another drink of coffee before I trust myself to speak. "You know us."

Sam merely looks away but I change the subject before Dean can reply. "So, when's the wedding?"

Dean looks confused for a moment, but soon a sly smile spreads across his face. "I'm betting on a nice spring nuptial, something tasteful-involving a train of Harleys, ladies with big hair and leahter bustiers and catering by the Jalapeño, no doubt."

Sam obviously forces a smile for his brother's benefit, "Maybe Morry will ask you to be his best man."

"Yeah, if Reese doesn't kill you first."

"What? You wouldn't want a daughter of yours bringing home a great catch like Morry?"

"I wouldn't let a daughter of mine speak to Morry."

"But you let him slobber all over me?"

"I've seen you with worse, Ace."

Dean clutches his chest and winces, and even though it's for dramatic effect I can't stop the lump that springs to my throat as unwanted memories of his recent death fill my mind. The look on my youngest son's face tells me he's thinking the same thing.

"Ouch. It's always the ones closest to you."

I don't miss the serious scowl that Sam sends my way at Dean's joking words. If Dean notices he doesn't say anything, but I decide to use my tactic from earlier and move us into safer territory. At least safer for me. "I have a line on something I want you boys to check out."

"Another job?" Dean takes the stool next to me and picks up his brother's discarded coffee.

Sam looks too pissed at the idea of another hunt to even complain about the grab.

"Yeah. In Alabama."

Dean starts to say something but my youngest beats him to it. "Where are _you_ going?"

Did I say I was going anywhere? I don't understand Sam sometimes. "I have another job that I'm working on."

"Dealing with the thing that killed Mom?"

"I'm not ready to discuss this particular job yet, Sam."

"But you're ready to send us off on another wild goose chase?"

"Sam…" Dean starts, but his brother turns on him.

"Dean-you just got out of the hospital."

"Dude-I'm good."

"This isn't a debate, boys." I wait until they are looking at me, instead of facing off with one another. "I'm giving you both an order."

I can tell from the look on Sam's face that he wants to tell me exactly where to shove my order, but to my surprise he stays silent.

"What's in Alabama, besides the Crimson Tide?" Dean asks.

"I'm not sure exactly. But an old friend asked me to look into some weird things going on in a small town not too far from Mobile. Sounds like it could be our kind of problem."

"Are you going to tell us _this _friend's name or do we have to figure out some secret prophecy first?"

Dean sighs, but I merely shrug at Sam's dig. "Sanders. Mac Sanders."

"Military buddy?" Dean asks, glancing around his brother.

I shake my head, "No, but he helped me out of a scrape once." Saved my life, actually. "You should like him, Sam. He's a lawyer."

"Why does a lawyer need our help?"

I take another drink of my coffee, recalling the conversation that I'd had with Mac. "Seems he has an unusual client."

"Unusual how?" Dean asks.

"Unusual in that he's been dead for about thirty years."

"Huh," Dean elbows his brother. "And you thought law school had nothing to do with the family business. This could open up a whole new area for you, Sammy. Sam Winchester-Supernatural Solicitor."

"Bite me," Sam grumbles, but I can see the interest flicker in his eyes. I have his curiosity up.

I have to admit the lawyer twist works for my advantage. I once tricked Sammy into a hunt by promising him a campus visit to Harvard-which of course Dean ended up taking him on.

"So-Dad, will you be meeting up with us? I hear they have a Jimmy Buffet museum there?"

Leave it to Dean to remember that Jimmy Buffet was raised in Mobile. "As much as I hate to miss that, son. I'm heading to California."

"California?" Sam asks, and I nod. "What's in California?"

"Answers, I hope."

"Maybe we can meet up with you after the job in Mobile."

I look at Dean, and try not to notice the hurt in his mother's eyes. "Maybe."

"When will you be heading out?"

"Tonight."

"You just got here," Sam speaks up, and this time there is more hurt in his voice than anger. I can't help but to get annoyed. "I shouldn't have been here in the first place, Sammy. It's dangerous."

"Tell me about it," my youngest snaps, and his eyes flick to Dean before boring down on me once more. "I sure hope you don't have to tear yourself away to come to Alabama."

In Sam speak, that means that I better hope nothing else happens to Dean. "I'm sorry that things can't be the way you want them, son."

"Right," Sam holds my gaze, and I feel bad for him, for his brother, too. "Because they've always gone my way before."

"I thought you said this wasn't the right place or time to get into things."

Dean frown at this, not having been part of _that_ whole part of the conversation, but he quickly offers up a familiar buffer. "Why don't we all just have a cheeseburger, some greasy fries, and brood silently-like real men?"

Sam and I both stare at him, both caving at the magic words. "I'm buying."

I can't help but to laugh and Sam rolls his eyes. "With what?"

"I have money," Dean defends, even though I'm pretty certain that he isn't sure of that statement.

"Order for me then, big spender," I say, standing and starting for the back of the diner where the restrooms are. "And tell them to go heavy on the jalapeños."

We watch him leave, and I don't miss the look on Dean's face. It's the same one I've seen him give me on countless occasions-kind of like he's not sure if it's the last time he'll see me or not. I have the urgent need to wipe it clean from his bruised features. "So, are we really going to Alabama?"

He looks at me and smiles. "Of course."

When I frown he nudges me, "What have you got against Alabama anyway, Sammy?"

"Nothing."

"Good, because, hell, if Skynyrd sang a song about it, the place can't be that bad."

I watch him kill the rest of my coffee-hating that even the obvious elation he's feeling at having Dad back-having us all together-still doesn't mask the fair amount of pain that he's trying to hide. "Are you feeling okay?"

He looks at me, slightly annoyed. "Sure, Random."

"Really. I mean if you need to take some time after all this, Dad can just call his friend and tell him we'll be there later on."

"I'm fine, Sam. Besides, Dad wouldn't be sending us if it wasn't important."

"New Hope _was _important." And look how well that turned out.

"Damn straight. Look at how that turned out."

I almost laugh at the completely opposite, yet identical ways we see things. "Geronimo and my girl, Lassie, were set free," he ticks off proudly. "Reese and Rose get to be a family again, and Morry gets a book out of the whole deal. And no more innocent people die, at least not from that soul sucking Monroe."

My brother-the hero. "Don't forget the most important part." The part where you died.

"Right," he smiles. "_Dad. _Damn it's good to see him."

I falter, realizing that he's totally looked over what it all almost cost us. What it took from him. What it did to me-to watch him die in my place. But I can't bring myself to ruin his take on things, because I can't bring myself to be that damn selfish, even to prove my point about our father. "Yeah, we finally found Dad. I'm glad he's okay, too." But I'm more glad that my brother's okay. I can't imagine what it would have been like leaving this place without him.

Going on without him. Even though I've done it before. But even when I was at Stanford, I knew that I wasn't alone.

"So-you and him are good then?"

He looks so hopeful that I can't bring myself to tell him that I'm not sure if Dad and I will ever be good again. But I force a smile, "Yeah. It was just like you said. I apologized. He apologized. And things are back to normal."

"I guess I should expect to have to break you two up before we finish our meal then?"

"Dad's leaving soon. I think I can control myself."

"Good, that would be awkward."

"As awkward as knowing you've actually swapped spit with Rose's future husband?"

"Shut up, Geek Boy."

"Wonder if Morry is interested in road tripping to Alabama. I have a feeling he'd fit in well in the South."

"Don't even think about it, Sam."

I catch sight of Dad coming out of the restroom and the barely contained look of reproach he shoots Morry as the man offers him the seat next to him in the booth. Suddenly, I have a brilliant idea. "Better yet, I bet he'd like California."

We look at one another, and I can't help feeling, that if only for that moment, we've gone back in time. Before Stanford. Before I even realized that I wanted a different life.

"Dad really does need someone watching his back."

I nod. "Never know when he might need a mechanic, or an EMT."

"Taxidermy could come in handy for those furries, too."

"Why are you boys looking at me like you use to when you were planning something that would inevitably land you both in deep shit?" I watch as Sam and Dean look innocently at one another.

"We were just saying how great it is to have you back with us, Father."

I frown at Dean and his cocky grin. "Right, smart ass. I thought you were ordering us some chow?"

"Just waiting on you, Dad." Sam says almost sweetly, and I find it hard to turn my back on him, because honestly, out of the two of them, he is the most dangerous.

"And planning for your going away present," Dean adds, and I get a little more worried.

"The last time you boys got me a _present_ I was almost arrested for partaking in the oldest profession."

"That was Sam's fault."

"My fault? I was seven."

"Boys," I hold up a hand, "Can we just eat?"

"Sure." They say in unison as I pick the booth closest to the door. I have a sinking feeling that I will not leave New Hope unscathed.

"By the way, Dad," Dean slides into the other side of the booth and winks at his brother, who sits down beside of him. "How do you feel about leather chaps?"

_March 2006_

Final notes: I know it was a little different, but I hope it wrapped things up a little neater, even though it is now officially AU since Shadow's debut. Hopefully, the boys will find something interesting in Alabama. Since I just came back from there myself. Keep your fingers crossed.


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